Shadowed Love
by MasterAssassinScrolls
Summary: This is a story of love, emotions and memories: Strider, an assassin, lost someone he held close to his heart, and now to cleanse away his memories, he kills. Without mercy, without regret. But that all changes as he meets a Nord, who makes him feel everything he left behind, and more. This is the story of how a dark killer fell in love with an innocent, naive woman.
1. Prologue

**_Author's Note: Alright anybody whose reading this, I'm MasterAssassinScrolls and this is my first story. I have to be honest I'm really, really nervous about publishing this story on here. So please be kind, but if you have anything that's bothering you about this story than be sure to tell me. Especially if it helps me, in Skyrim terms (that's right I'm a nerdy person), Level up my writing skill. And I really want to level up that tree, so any criticism you have I'll appreciate it. Um, and if you have anything good to say too than that'll be even better! :) So I suppose I should wrap this up... Here's Shadowed Love.  
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**_Shadowed Love: _**

**_Prologue_**

I didn't even have to open my eyes to smell the blood, that rusty metallic scent coated the air enough that I knew it was fresh. I breathed in the smell, that familiar smell that I knew so well, and it rushed through my open mouth. I tasted it with my tongue, I was right, definitely fresh. And at the far off dripping sound it was obvious that it was coming from an open wound… but whose?

Mine? Or someone else's? I couldn't think. I felt like I was forgetting something extremely important. But what? My head throbbed and ringing started to fill my ears. I clamped my eyes shut tighter, I needed to think. And feel. And then suddenly as if on my command I felt a burning sensation across my chest. The open wound.

My fatigued eyelids fluttered open slowly, so slowly that it was obvious something was wrong. Why was I so exhausted? At first I thought that I hadn't actually opened my eyes, just imagined it, because of the pitch black darkness clouding them. But with a shock I realised that they were indeed open, and this darkness was… real? But it had to be, unless it was a spell?

A possibility, which meant that I could penetrate the spell with one of my own. I tried to ball up my fists, until I realised that they weren't by my sides, they were above my head. Tied up. That realisation made my eyes widen, and I lifted my gaze up above my head. I could just make out my pale skin, and the brown shackles that were around my wrists.

As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw that the shackles were connected to a chain that was rising into the ceiling. If there was indeed a ceiling. The chain looked never-ending and a doubt formed in my stomach. What was I to do? I was trapped and apparently injured, if I was to believe the sensations shooting through my entire body. Not just from my chest but also my lower back, and now as my attention was towards my chained up hands, it became apparent that they too were aching.

Something shot through my body, was it adrenaline? Or was it courage? No matter what it was, it gave me the stamina to move my muscles. They ached and burned, especially in my arms, but at least I felt everything. Which meant that I wasn't limbless. Good. I wiggled my hands to see if they moved. They did.

Next I shook my wrists, but a searing pain shot down my arm muscles and I clenched my teeth. Well I could feel them. That was good, right? I stared up at my hanging hands and squinted my eyes, determinedly. An idea passed through my sluggish thoughts and I suddenly pulled on the shackles. Again and again and again. Every time I pulled on the thick chain, a loud clunk filled the air. Each time I expected to hear a noise, some sort of confirmation that I was being watched, or that I was about to be stopped, but each time there was nothing. Nothing except the soft drip of my blood.

I didn't let that compute in my brain, all of my concentration on trying to wiggle my hands free from their bonds. I didn't let myself register the pain that came with every tug. I didn't think about the skin on my wrists that was slowly peeling off, making them raw and bloody. And I dimly registered that every tug made more of my strength ebb away. But after what was only a couple of minutes, I gave up. It was obviously not going to work, and continuing would be stupid. So I let myself drop back into my previous position: me hanging there. Exhausted and in pain. But I had been in worse, and I would still be in worse. This was nothing. This wasn't the first time I had been a prisoner.

Except, in the past, I had known who my captor, or captors, had been, but this time I was clueless. Or was I? Maybe I did know. Maybe whatever had made me so weak in my body, had also made me weak in mind too. And all I had to do was remember. I sighed and stared into the darkness, trying to think. Trying to figure it all out. There was something at the back of my mind, but as I tried to concentrate on what it was, my thoughts clouded and it was gone. It was like something was telling my mind not to work. Like I couldn't control it.

And then, all of a sudden, I realised what the cloud in my mind felt like, it was as if I was drunk. My senses were slow and sluggish. My thought process was even worse, and my body ached but somehow I felt unattached to my body. Like I only felt half of the pain.

All of this came within a second, and I knew what was wrong. I wasn't drunk. I was drugged. Or under a spell. But something told me that it was more likely a type of poison. Not paralysis, otherwise I wouldn't be able to move. No it was far more sinister, and probably dangerous… deadly.

The poison could be in my system right now, through my blood stream. Making its way towards my heart. And then I'd die. As if on cue, my heart started to beat faster and faster. I wasn't sure if it was the poison or just fear, but I hoped for the latter. I looked down at my chest, and saw a long and deep cut running the length of it. Blood dripping down my stomach and onto the dark ground. My heart jumped, slightly. And I fought to slow it down. I breathed in and out, inhaling and exhaling. I counted the inhales and exhales until I got to twenty and my heart started to beat slower. More carefully. _Took long enough_…

Was there nothing I could do? Was there no way to see through the dark? To at least see where I was? But the answer was obvious. No, I needed my hands free before I could conjure a magelight. And I needed a tool of some type to break the shackles. Or did I?

_Fire!_ It was so simple, so obvious. Why hadn't I thought of it before now? _Because of the poison,_ _and there's only one way to get that out of my system_. Healing. Which I needed my hands free to do.

I flicked my eyes back to the darkness looming in front of me. It was ironic really. I had never been afraid of the darkness, or what came with it. Because _I_ was what came with it. I'm the one that people are afraid of. I'm the one that people see before they leave Nirn. And now whoever had tied me up, whoever had kidnapped me, was the one that I was afraid of. But not for long, though. They didn't know who they were dealing with.

I clenched my hands as best I could. Hope flashed through me that I'd be able to do it. The cloud that hung over my mind would make it difficult but not impossible. Magic is _never_ impossible. My thoughts filled with a burning flame, I concentrated on what it would feel like to hold in my hand, how the heat would glance off my skin but not hurt. How there would be no smoke, how it would smell. How it would sound, the burning crackling sound. How hot it would be.

I opened my eyes, and in the palm of my right hand sat a small, but sure, flame. The hope ignited and I smiled. My lips cracked and sticky, I could feel it as they formed the large grin, but I didn't care. It was a miracle. My captor hadn't counted on my magic, now had he?

I could feel the flame's heat against my cheeks, even from the distance, and I carefully spread my palm flat. The flame danced for a second, and then it spread down to my wrist, where the shackle began. As soon as it touched the metal, it spit. Instead of melting the metal it danced below the shackle, and touched my wrist. I yelled out in pain as the fire burned on my newly red raw skin. I clenched my fist and the flame dissolved into nothing. In the back of my mind the newly found hope died down, along with the flame.

The smile slipped from my face, and I breathed out in frustration, and pain. I wanted to scream, to shout out in anger and I opened my mouth to do just those when suddenly a voice filled the darkness around me. It was deep and… confident? Vibrating in my ears and echoing everywhere, so that I couldn't tell where it came from exactly.

"I wouldn't try that if I was you. Fire won't work. Nothing will. I'm not stupid enough to forget about your supposed 'arch-mage power'. And anyway it'll hurt like venom."

As the voice said 'arch-mage power' it overly pronounced it, making it sound foolish. It made me feel foolish. But I quickly pushed that feeling away, and anger replaced it. Anger at the fact that I was afraid, anger at my captor and most importantly anger because something had stirred inside me when I'd heard the voice, and now I couldn't think of how it was familiar.

And along with my anger, courage shot through me. My fear vanished as I shouted into the darkness, "Who are you? And why do you have the right to hold me here against my will?"

In answer, the voice boomed with laughter. "Why do I have the right? Maybe you should try to remember… Oh that's right, you can't." It taunted me and I clenched my teeth together. I was certain there was something I had forgotten. It had only been in the back of my mind before, not noticed because it was hardly even there. But now I could feel it getting stronger and bigger. Whatever it was, I had a feeling that it was crucial for me to remember.

"You didn't answer my first question," I called out loudly, a challenging note to my voice. I waited for its reply, my body burning not with pain anymore, but with impatience.

"Hmm, well you're going to have to convince me to tell you that. Make it worth my while, if you dare." The voice turned lower at the last part and I felt chills run along my spine. That angered me more than the voice did.

"Why should I do what you say?" I put all of my venom into the question, and my voice echoed around the room like his. I knew it was a male by the low tone, no female's voice is that deep.

The laughter reverberated around in the darkness again, and my ears rang dangerously. "Why? Why?" It mimicked, "Because I have your entire world in the palm of my hand, and I can take it away forever." The voice turned to serious tones and I felt a drop of sweat form on my brow. I was getting closer to discovering whatever I had forgotten, I could feel it.

"My life?" I asked cautiously. But I already knew he wasn't talking about that.

"Your life? No. I'm not stupid enough to think that you'd care about that. So I took something that I knew you couldn't resist. Something that you'd rather die than be without." The voice was deep as before, but now its tone was different. As serious but filled with, what sounded like, vehemence. Hate.

But what could I have done to make him sound so angry, so hateful? But the real question was: What could I have done to make him hold me here? What kind of thing could make him resort to this?

A sluggish thought crossed my mind, _you did what you've done to all the others. You took something that belonged to him. Something that he'll never get back. You took a life._ I knew straight away that the thought was correct, it was right. I _had _killed someone, obviously, dear to him.

So he, this voice in the dark, was one of my victims.

A deep and buried sorrow rose to my heart, but it quickly died down. It was hard to feel anything other than anger for someone that had chained and shackled me. And planned to, undoubtedly, torture me.

I closed my eyes, _something that could give him leverage…_ but no, not _something_ rather _someone._ I knew what –or rather- _who_ he was talking about. Because he was right, the only way to hurt me, was to hurt someone I cared about. And there was only _one_ person that I truly cared about on Nirn.

_Anna._

Her name struck my thoughts and I knew instantly that, that was what I'd forgotten. Shame run through me. _I forgot her. I forgot her. _What would she think when she found out?

_I'm so very sorry, my Anna. _

I sucked in my breath and let out a shout of rage. "You're lying." I screamed into the darkness.

"Are you really going to bet on that? Because that would be extremely risky, and deadly." He threatened softly.

I started to tug on the chain again, "You wouldn't." I yelled, while thrashing with all of my might against my binds. I thought of the fire again, but nothing happened. My breathing became erratic and my heart beat at a fast pace. My whole body locked in fear as I remembered what I'd forgotten.

"If you hurt her, so help me, I'll tear you limb from limb." I looked around me, trying to pin-point where he was, trying to see _her. _Because it was obvious now, I wasn't the only one in this darkness with him. He had her, and he'd hurt her. To get to me, because that's who he really wanted to feel pain. _Me. _Not her, he had _no_ right_ –_none at all- to hold her here with me.

"Please… save your breath, it's an empty threat, and we both know it." As the last times, I heard his voice vibrating around me, but as he finished my neck prickled and I felt a hot breath on my cheek. My eyes shot to the left side of me, but all I could see was darkness.

I felt him laugh in my ear, his breath sending chills through me. "I'm going to enjoy making you suffer." Anger clouded his voice and I growled, "If you-"

But I was cut off by a pale white hand on my shoulder, clenching down on it, sending pain through my back. "I thought I made it clear that you're powerless in this situation. And now you're going to have to watch me torture your love." Anger clouded my whole body, and I thrashed against the shackles, knocking his hand from my shoulder.

I opened my mouth to threaten him once more, to say that he'd wish he wasn't born after I got to him, but then I decided against it and instead, "You speak so surely of yourself, so why are you still in the shadows? I want to see the face of my captor. Or are you a coward? Don't you even have enough bravery to show yourself?"

I waited for him to laugh in my face, but instead, after a brief pause, he said quietly, "If that's what you wish…"

And then, right in front of me, ten feet away, I saw a light appear out of nothing. It pieced the gloom with a blinding essence, making my eyes water and I blinked. As they adjusted I saw a tall figure step out of the darkness. I couldn't see anything noteworthy about him except for the fact that he was wearing armour that looked oddly familiar. Because it was the same armour I had worn for five years now. Red and black. Tightly fitting to every limb, for more mobility. A long black cowl over his head. Mouth and nose covered. Except for his eyes.

I knew that armour so well, it belonged to my family, and it belonged to me. And not to him. So he was a thief as well as a liar and soon to be killer. I smiled to myself. Déjà vu flashed in my mind, and something told me that in a memory I'd already seen this.

The man just stood there, watching me, I thought I saw his eyes turn to slits, and I noticed the ball of light hover in the palm of his hand. He didn't walk towards me, like I expected, instead he just stood stock still, as if frozen. The anticipation hung in the air as I waited for his next move. Instead of the shallow gasps of air that had rattled my lungs before, my breathing was, surprisingly, even. It was all I could hear.

The man continued to stare into my face for what felt like a lifetime before, so suddenly, he turned and I saw the ball of light hover away from him, and over into the darkness. But instead of leaving us without a way to see, it still illuminated near us. It only confused me for a couple of seconds until the light illuminated something else. Something that was also hanging from a thick rusty chain, something that appeared unconscious. Something that was so small, its feet didn't even touch the floor. Something that had dried up blood on its head, slowly dripping down from its pure pale hair. Something that was so beautiful that I felt my heart clench uncontrollably. Something that held my heart in its hands.

Something that I couldn't lose yet again.

"NO" I shouted, my dark voice shattering the silence.

Even though I couldn't see his mouth I knew that he smiled a wicked grin. "I knew you'd react like that. Really, you should control yourself more. You're just too easy to predict." He walked towards her as he talked, taunting me with every step. I felt my whole body go rigid as he slowly, softly, ran a finger down her jawline.

"_Get away from her!" _I screamed into the silence.

He laughed and moved in front of her blocking my view, which only infuriated me more. I let go of a long anger-filled sigh, but when I saw a light glint off a shiny black blade, it instead turned to a choke. He was going to kill her right then and there, and I wouldn't be able to save her, history would repeat itself. I tried to shout out, to persuade him to stop, or at least to distract him long enough, but my lungs wouldn't fill with air. I gasped hollowly, hyperventilating.

He moved to the side of her, so that I'd be able to watch him do it, and without a moment's notice, he struck. I felt tears cloud my vision and I was grateful for them, I couldn't watch it. _Not again. Not again_. Slowly the tears dropped and then I saw something that made a hope inside me ignite.

She wasn't dead. There wasn't any dagger pressed in between her ribs, or thrust in her heart. There was only a long, but shallow, cut across her right cheek. I watched as her blood left the wound, and I smelt the blood, heard the blood fall to the ground. It made something inside on me clench, and I found my breath.

I spluttered for words strong enough to hurt him, but they wouldn't come, so instead I settled with:"_You sick freak, I hope the divines strike you down where you stand, and send you to Oblivion!" _I had intended it to come out as a shout, a scream, but instead it came out in a whisper. I sounded weak, and vulnerable, just like he wanted. I hated myself for letting myself sound so frail, but mostly I hated myself for not being able to protect her.

"What, you think it's going to be that quick? You think I'm going to let you off so easily? I want you to suffer. Like I did. I want you to wish that you could die. I want to see you cry. And then once I'm satisfied, maybe, if you're lucky, I'll put you down and rip your heart out."

His words echoed in my mind. '_Like I did.'_ Who was he? Who had I killed?

"Who… are you?" I asked, my voice rasping slightly.

I watched him walk away from her, towards me, his blade slightly dripping with her blood. He turned his head to the side, like a bird, or like how a sabre cat watches its prey before it lunges. And that's what he was doing, too. He was watching his prey. And as he kept coming I could feel him about to lung.

"Like I said, you're going to have to work for that answer." He stopped in front of me, two feet away. A shadow passed over his eyes and I waited. He took one step than two, until he was right in front of me. He was looking down, and again I waited. I knew, somehow that this was it, that I'd finally get my answers.

And then, he looked up. Our eyes connected and I felt mine widen with shock. "No…" I whispered quietly. "It can't be, you're-"

"Alive? I was never dead."

My eyes never left his, and his never left mine. His eyes were a pale, light blue. The blue of newly frozen ice. The blue of an early morning in winter. They almost seemed to throb in their sockets, as I stared into them. His eyes were so familiar, because they belonged to me. They were my colour, in every exact shade. I had only ever seen three other people have eyes like mine, and I'd thought that they were all dead. But no, not all. It could only mean one thing. This man was my-

"Brother."

And it all made sense. So much sense. Why he hated me. Why he was willing to take away the woman I loved. Why, in a place deep inside me, I'd felt like I'd known him. Because I really had killed someone he loved. But not just one person, multiple people.

No, how could this be? What sick nightmare was I trapped in?

"I suppose you're wondering how this is? Well, I have to say, it's quite the tale, but I'm not going to indulge you into the secret, not quite yet anyway. No, I want something from you. Something… personal. You see I want you to feel everything I felt. After what you did." His voice quivered, "After what you took from me. I thought that before I make you watch while I kill her, slowly, I'll make you relive everything. Every tiny, little moment you ever had with her. Every emotion you ever had towards her." His eyes were bright, glazed over with an excited look. To me, they were the eyes of a mad man. "It'll be like you're living it all over again, and then after those memories are over, I'll take your world in my hands and tear it apart. Just like you did with mine."

My mouth was slightly ajar, fixed in horror, and before I could even compute it, he had me by my ear. He pulled on it, giving it a hard tug, forcing my head down, to make our eyes exactly level. And then he thrust a red light into my eyes, blinding me. I shouted out in fear.

"Don't worry, 'brother', I'll be one step behind you, always in your mind. Watching _everything_. Remember that."

The red light filled my eyes, it was all I could see. Suddenly I was staring into my brother's eyes, and then all I could see was red. It was a deep, bright, red. Not the dark, sinister red of blood. It evoked a cold fear in me, a fear for myself, but also for my love.

I tried to close my eyes, to shut out the redness, but I couldn't because I didn't have any control over my body anymore.

And then, suddenly, the red started to get darker and darker and darker. Until instead of red it was black. Endless black. The last image I saw in my mind's eye before the darkness over took me, was her.

My love. My heart. My soul. My wife. My Anna.

_I love you, Anna. _It was the last thought I made before the blackness succeeded in pulling me under.


	2. The Darkness

_**Chapter One**_

The darkness was blinding, if that makes any sense. Little pin-pricks of light would appear out of nowhere, and then as soon as I focused my vision on them they'd just disappear. It was confusing, but more so infuriating. I was nowhere, someplace that shouldn't even exist, and I had no way of getting out.

It felt like I'd been here hours and hours, days maybe, but some small voice in the back of my mind told me differently. Maybe I'd just been here mere seconds, but every single moment that passed made it harder for me to actually think. About anything. Then an idea came to me: _Perhaps the poison is still in your bloodstream… _The poison? What poi-

I was cut off mid thought by the realisation. Realisation of what had just happened to me, and how I had gotten here. The poison I'd been drugged with to stop me from remembering anything at all. Me waking up, sore and aching from being tied to a hanging chain. The deep, dark voice all around I, teasing me, making me feel pathetic. My anger at seeing my beautiful Anna chained up as I was. And then the discovery of who our captor was. My _brother._

I tried to ground my teeth at that word, he was no _'brother' _of mine, but I couldn't. I just simply couldn't. It wasn't because I was too weak, no, it was because I couldn't control my own body. But that wasn't right though, I couldn't even _feel _my own body. It was like… I didn't even have a body. Like it was just my mind. Like I was a spirit.

_A spirit. _Those two words echoed in my mind, and suddenly fear struck me. Was I a spirit? But if I was, than that would mean that I'm… _dead._

But how? How had I died? That's when I remembered the red light that _he'd _(I would not even think of him as the _b _word) thrust into my eyes. The way it had taken away my sight of everything except the redness. And the way I had been frightened. Frightened of death…

So I really was dead then, and this place, dark and depressing, was actually what? Oblivion? It would make sense, I had always known that that's where I'd eventually go. But if this place was Oblivion than why was I the only one here?

I tried to look around, even though I knew I couldn't, but surprisingly my gaze turned. I had moved my head? No, I hadn't. I had just moved my… my what? My spirit? I didn't feel right using that word. My mind? That felt more correct, and much less depressing. Or maybe my essence? But no, I liked mind better. It felt more real.

So yes, I had successfully moved my mind. So I _could _move myself, just not my limbs… because I didn't have any. I tried not to dwell on that fact. And instead I continued to look everywhere around me. Trying to see if there was an end of this blasted darkness, but as I already expected, there was not.

I hadn't realised that there had been a tiny ball of hope rise up in me as I'd looked around, but as I started to see only darkness, and nothing more, that ball of hope faded. I didn't want to let it go, but why should there be hope inside me? There was nothing, nothing at all, hopeful about this situation. And there never would be. Because I had failed. I had failed in vowing to stay alive for all of these years. And now that vow was dead, alongside me.

But that wasn't the only thing I had failed in. I had failed by leaving my Anna. And now she was alone. And at that monster's mercy. Mercy that he didn't, and wouldn't ever, possess. How would she survive this? She was chained up, and most likely poisoned, like I had been. The only way for her to get free from him, was for her to die. But she couldn't die, she just couldn't.

I wanted to crouch in a ball and weep, but I couldn't. Not only because I had no body, but also because I couldn't allow myself to be so weak. And as long as I was strong, I could get through this. I'm not sure how, but I could. And I _would!_

If I was a spirit, or a ghost, than maybe I'd be able to come back. I had seen ghosts before. Fought ghosts before. They'd had bodies, even if their body had been transparent. They had been able to wield swords, and cast magic spells. So maybe I was wrong, maybe there was hope. Not for me to live again, or to repair my oath to myself, but to actually save her. To save my Anna.

But how? As far as I knew, the only reason they had been able to even still exist on Nirn was because their soul had been trapped. Most of the time in a soul gem, or by a Necromancer. And I couldn't see him being a Necromancer. He wasn't like any Necromancer I knew.

How could I come back? Maybe by me still having unfinished business. But that seemed doubtful.

But I was a mage, myself. Maybe I could cast my soul back there. As far as I knew there wasn't any type of spell to do that, but I could figure one out. Or make one myself. It seemed impossible thinking that I'd ever be able to get out of this place, but I couldn't just give up. If it was myself, than fine, I probably would. But I had to keep strong for her. My Anna.

Her name seemed to bring something back in me, and I again felt that hope starting to blossom. Because there really was hope, as long as she was still breathing then there was. And it was my mission to keep her breathing for as long as it took.

If I had have been able to feel my lungs, I would've taken a long deep breath to calm myself. Even though I couldn't, thinking that I would seemed to have to same effect on me, and I thought of myself smiling. Even though I couldn't smile. I wouldn't smile until I see her face again. Until I see those eyes. Or hear the way her laugh seems to be quiet but loud at the same time.

I heard it in my mind, and I felt a wave a content settle over me. That laugh, so hysterical so that anyone near her wouldn't be able to resist laughing alongside her. The way it would rise and fall in pitch, ever so soft one moment, almost noisy the next.

I tried to let the sound go, as I felt sorrow fill inside me. But it wouldn't disappear. It wouldn't fade like it should.

'_I pictured you as one of those women…' _

I heard the voice in my head but it sounded as if it was also coming from around me. At first I thought that it was _him._ The captor. But it wasn't, this voice was softer but still deep. Slightly husky.

I knew straight away whose voice this belonged to. It was mine.

'_Oh really, and what does 'one of those women' mean, exactly?' _

At the next voice I panicked, looking around me. Searching for the familiar person that fit the voice. How could she be here? Had he killed her as well? Did she know that I was here? The hope seemed to rise inside me as I thought of seeing her again, of being able to see that smile with my own two eyes. But then I realised what that would mean. It would mean that I really had failed, if she was dead. She couldn't be dead. _I wouldn't allow it!_

I continued to search everywhere around me, for her. But it was only darkness. Pressing down on top of me, making me feel small and worthless. Pathetic and weak. The darkness seemed to go down inside me, taking out all of my hope that had just barely ignited. I felt sorrow fill me as it continued to go down, deeper and deeper. Making me feel depressed and vulnerable. I wanted to hear her voice again, or even mine. Something that could stop the sudden feeling of hopelessness. But all was silent. All was still.

Until suddenly, as if hearing my cry of help, a white light appeared in amongst the darkness. It was only a tiny, tinny, ball of light, but it was enough for me to grow stronger. And fight the darkness that was clouding around me, not letting me see sense. I pushed myself towards the light. I saw it as that little bit of hope that just seems to appear for no reason. That smile from a stranger, or that hug from a loved one, when you're feeling down and hollow.

I wasn't exactly walking towards it, more like floating. However I was moving towards the light, it was getting the job done and that's all that I cared about. I had to get away from the darkness, or else it would succeed in pulling me under, and if that happened than I'd never, ever, see Anna again. So I continued to push, at first every step was harder than the last, but then it got easier and easier to push forward. I knew why. It was because the black cloud was slowly lifting off of me, as I got closer and closer to the light.

And then, without even realising it, it was right in front of me. Not two feet away. I went towards it, with a slow pace, nervous anticipation streaming through my mind. Cloaking the air around me.

The light was beautiful, and I knew that the longer I stared at it, the harder it would be to look away. But I couldn't _not _look at it. It was too bright, and somehow I wasn't afraid. I couldn't see anything else besides the ball of light, but it wasn't because it was blinding, like the red light, it was because all of my attention was focused on it. As I looked at the white light I knew that there was something behind it. Like this was just a veil, but what was it concealing?

The longer I watched it, the longer the urge to know what was behind it clouded at the edge of my mind, and I took another step towards it. Then suddenly as I was not two inches away, it grew darker. Not black, but a sort of grayish white. And then I heard their voices again.

Mine and Anna's.

A deep voice and a soft one answering.

Their same words repeated in my mind, but then I realised with a shock that it wasn't coming from my mind. Rather the ball of thick light. So they were in there. That's what it was concealing. Her and I. But how? Why were we even in there?

And then new words came out of the light, words that had once come out of my own mouth.

'_Only that you're giggly. Laughing all of the time. It is really quite annoying, sometimes… and other times…'_

I leaned even further towards it, waiting to hear her voice, wondering if I'd be able to see her. And as if on command I suddenly could. The veil seemed to disappear, the grayish white gone, and then a picture formed in its place.

A candle was the first thing I noticed, it was standing high and tall in its place. The silver of the candlestick glowed under the light from the flame. Wax gently sliding down the candle onto the silver stick. The next thing was my face. Dark black hair curling under my ears, I was smiling gently, a dimple forming on my right cheek. My eyes were illuminated under the glow of the candle flame.

Lastly I saw her face. Anna's face.

She was frowning, her forehead creased slightly. Her eyes were also glowing under the candlelight, and her light hair seemed to be illuminated. If it was dark, it probably would've glimmered. As it is, it looked like she had sunshine glancing off it. Everything about her made me sad, but happy at the same time. To me she was perfect, all of her flaws made into perfections, because they were a part of her. And I loved _all _of her.

'_I only laugh when I'm happy, if you knew me at all, than you'd know that. And sometimes it's really, very difficult to be happy around you.' _

Me in the ball of light smiled. But then seeing her obvious insulted demeanor, the smile slipped from his face quickly, and he clamped his mouth shut before the deep laughter could bubble up. She lifted her chin up slightly, in defiance and anger, and then turned her body away from him. She was about to walk away but a pale hand held onto her forearm, gently. Keeping her from moving.

'_You didn't ask about the 'other times'…' _

His voice was deeper than normal, and I knew that strange emotions were on the edge of his mind. On the edge of his tongue. They seemed to bubble up inside of him as he stared into her eyes.

He took a deep breath than began, slowly, _'The other times it seems to fill me with something… something I haven't felt in a long time. It's taken me a long while, and many sleepless nights but finally I know what that unsaid emotion is. It seems to be happiness. But it's not because of your laugh, it's because of you, Anna. You.'_

She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to tell him to stop, but he held up a hand, the hand that had been on her forearm, to signal her silence.

'_Please, allow me to finish?' _She nodded slowly, clearly shocked at his words.

So he kept going, the words tumbling out of him every second.

'_And it's not just happiness either, it's so, so many emotions that I simply cannot name. Because at first I was terrified, which angered me, but not because of feeling the emotions, but because I've envisioned this moment so many times… and it never goes the way I want it to. You always tell me off, or say that I'm not good enough, or that you like someone else…' _At this last part he looked down, his eyes veiled by darkness, but I could see the guilt in his body language.

She continued to look stunned for a couple more seconds, than she smiled a small smile, not enough to make her whole face light up like usual, but enough to make hope blossom in his eyes.

Then words came out of her mouth that I'll never forget, because those words changed my life. For good or bad, I'll never care.

'_You think that you're the only one. That when you wake up your thoughts can't help but go to that person. Wondering where they are, if they're near enough to you that you could touch them. And when you finally see that person, you feel as if you're going to explode from the sheer sight of them. Their face just makes your whole heart shine with happiness, and you want to be alone with them, to tell them how you feel. But you just can't. Because if you do it's almost impossible for them to feel the same way. So you pretend not to feel anything at all, which seems to hurt the most. If you feel the same way I feel than you know. You know that it's you, Strider. You.'_

She turned back to him, tears in her beautiful eyes. She smiled that smile that does make her whole face shine, and it seemed to knock me over. When was the last time I saw her smile at me? I needed to know. Had she before we got kidnapped? I don't know. I can't remember.

I had to remember.

But more importantly, I had to see her smile like that at me. I went forward towards the ball with them in it. Maybe there was a way for me to get into there, with them. Maybe I could somehow become one with him, and then I'd finally see her. The urge to be there with her clouded my mind, and I jumped forward. Into the exactly same place where the ball of light was. At first I actually thought it was going to work. But then I realised that it wasn't. Instead the ball faded, going as black as the darkness around. Every single part of the picture faded, until suddenly it was only her. And then she was gone.

I shouted out with my mind, and tried to catch any of the pieces, but they were gone. Forever.

If I had have had a body, I would've sunk to the ground and cried, as it is, I was crying on the inside.

What could I do now? Would I ever see her again? Questions like that flitted through my mind, repeating themselves, over and over again. I don't know how long I just stood there staring into the darkness, but not actually seeing it. Finally after what felt like hours, they just stopped. And I could think again, without the weight of those depressing thoughts weighing me down. None of this made sense. How had I even seen them in that ball of light? Don't be misguided, I was so very grateful I had, but how? How was it even possible?

I had heard stories of Oblivion, of it being this place filled with death and the decay of evil souls. Because only bad people, people who had done terrible, horrible stuff in their life were ever trapped in Oblivion. And the Deadra were another story. They were supposed to be malevolent creatures, not caring about any mortal at all. Using us to do their bidding. Then there were ones like Meridia and Azura, who weren't thought to be wholly evil. There were people who believed that they were better than the others, more merciful. I don't know what I believe, but if I really was in Oblivion, and in a realm of some Daedric Prince, than why were they doing this to me?

I had done terrible, horrible, horrendous things in my life, and maybe I really did deserve this, but that didn't make it feel any better. That didn't mean that it didn't hurt any less. And why would the Daedra do this to me, anyway? If they were really as bad as they're made out to be, than why, in the name of the Divines, do they care if I'm just as bad as them? Wouldn't they praise me, not that I wanted to be praised, but you'd think that they wouldn't even batter an eyelid.

Then maybe, by some unknown miracle, I wasn't in Oblivion. Maybe I was somewhere else.

I couldn't be in Sovngarde. The Sovngarde I had been to was beautiful, peaceful. Well it had been after Alduin was slain. But still, this was definitely not Sovngarde.

So then where was I?

And it wasn't only my location that didn't make sense, or the ball of light. It was other things. I was starting to remember what he, our captor, had said.

_'What, you think it's going to be that quick? You think I'm going to let you off so easily? I want you to suffer.' _That's what he'd said. And he wouldn't go back on his word. He wouldn't just kill me and get it over with. Because he wanted me to suffer, and I wasn't suffering enough. Not for him. So was I really dead? No. No, I wasn't. As soon as I made up my mind on that fact, I was flooded with a relieved emotion. I wasn't dead. I would see her again. Then I realised that when I saw her again, I wasn't going to be able to see that big, bright smile. Or hear her laugh. He would torture her, make her suffer along side me.

Great. I'm not sure what's worse. Being dead and knowing that I'll never get to touch her again, or being alive and knowing that the next time I do, she'll be getting tortured by a psychopathic crazy man, hell bent on watching me in pain.

I would've sighed, if I had a body. And that was another thing, too. Why didn't I have one? But the answer came to me almost immediately. Because my body was back with him. So I really was just a mind. Not a spirit or ghost, a mind.

_Oh, no_. That meant that he could be doing anything to her, anything to me, and I was helpless because I was somewhere else. He could do anything to my body and I wouldn't even notice. Wouldn't even feel it. _Great, that's just perfect. Now what?_ But I had no idea, I couldn't answer the thought because I had none. I really was helpless, and now Anna was too. And by leaving her helpless, I was weak. Weak and pathetic. Hardly even worthy to be called her love.

_I'm sorry, Anna. Where ever I am, I promise to you that I'll be back. That I'll make everything right. That I'll make him pay for what he's done. _As I vowed to her, I knew that I was telling the truth. I _would_ make him pay. And I _would_ come back to her. I had to. Not only for Anna, but for myself too. Because without Anna, I was nobody. Nothing. And I couldn't go back to that, not ever again. I had forgotten what it had been like, to actually have a place in this life. To be worth something. And I wouldn't allow myself to forget, once again. This was my last chance. At everything. If I failed, then we were both doomed. _I won't fail! _

It was the most simple thought ever, but it seemed to fill me with pride. And courage. Courage to do what needed to be done. And that was to get back to my Anna, and then to save her. But I could only take one step at a time. The first step was to figure out where he'd sent me. Because he was the reason I was here. That red light was the reason. But what had it actually been? A spell? That made the most sense, but I didn't know any spell like that. Which would've hurt my ego, if it hadn't have been shattered into a million, useless pieces.

I was the Arch Mage, I should know every spell.

And I did... just not the one that I really, really needed to know. The one that it was essential for me to know.

Perhaps it was a teleporting spell. That was possible. And it would explain quite a lot. But something told me that it was something a bit different. If it was a teleportation spell than why hadn't my body went with me too? Or did the spell effect only the mind? Or maybe I should be looking at this from another angle. Maybe it hadn't teleported me at all. Maybe it did something entirely different. But what? Where in the world was I?

The answer came to me so suddenly I was shocked. I wasn't in the world.

I looked around me. This place was dark and almost filled with a deep depressing... sorrow. Sadness. No light penetrated it. Only that memory of mine that was now gone. And there was only one place that a memory that belonged to me would be. They're all safely tucked away inside my, own... mind.

I knew where I was. I was inside my mind. That's the only way there had been one of my memories. The spell had teleported me inside my own brain.

It was almost as if the realisation was a slap to the face. It stung like it anyway. I had been right, all of those years ago, thinking that my mind had become a hollow, sorrow filled hole. Because it had. It was only darkness. Malicious and twisted, but with a sad edge to it. This place, my mind, kind of felt like it was dying. Slowly. That's exactly how I had felt before I'd met Anna, and then day by day, she had revived me. Until suddenly I was cured. There was only one cure for this, and it was what she had given me. What I had wanted but forgotten. That cure was love. I needed to see the love in her eyes, and the only way for that to happen was to escape this... place. My mind. But how?

It was my mind. Maybe if I tried hard enough I'd be able to will myself out of it. But the thought seemed doubtful. Impossible. No, I couldn't. I was trapped in here for as long as _he _wanted me to be. Because he was the one pulling the shots. It was like I was the puppet, and he was my master. Pulling my strings, and it didn't matter how hard I would pull, to get away. The strings would give way and I'd be brought back to him. All I could do to get away was to do his bidding, and wait until he had no more use for me. So I had to do what he wanted. And what exactly was that?

_ 'I'll make you relive everything. Every tiny, little moment you ever had with her. Every emotion you ever had towards her.' _

He wanted me to relive my life from the beginning I met Anna. It made so much sense, as to why I had seen that memory, as to why I was even here in the first place. Because he wanted to take her away from me right when I'm at my most vulnerable state. When I'm with her.

So all I had to do was remember my memories of her, and then he'd break the spell? Yes, yes he would. I'd be ready for him once I was out of my mind, out of the darkness. Me remembering her would make me stronger, and then I'd, hopefully, be able to break free from my binds. And save her.

This was my plan. Even if it was a highly risky, and most definitely stupid one. Even if it was made up of mostly luck. Because I couldn't be sure that I wouldn't lose myself in my memories. The odds were that I would. Because Anna had always done that. When I was around her the whole room could be burning and I wouldn't even notice. Wouldn't even care, either. When we're together, even if people are around us, it's like... like it is only us. The whole world just fades away, and all I can see is her. The landscape, the people, they're gone. When we're near each other, it's just us, no one else.

Maybe that's a bad thing, but it's just so hard not to concentrate on only her. It's like my will power is just sucked away, every single moment I'm next to her. Of course that's problematic, it's probably the reason why we were able to be taken hostage, because we wouldn't have noticed anything until it was too late. Perhaps I should feel guilty, but I wouldn't give up that feeling for anything. It's like I'm flying, and no matter how tired I get, I can still go on. Because she's right there, right next to me, holding my hand with her own.

So when I go in my memories, how am I supposed to stay alert? To stay vigilant? If this is what it does to me?

I could change it. Right? Maybe. Probably. Impossibly not. I couldn't change that. And he knows this, he knows that I'll forget about being taken. About being chained and bound. He's using my weakness against me. And there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing at all. Except play along, and hope that I would remember. Hope that I'd be ready to face him when I came back out. Because that's all I can do. Hope. It was most definitely a false hope, so it would hurt even more when it turns out to be, but at least in my current state I could hope.

A very young, very ignorant person had once thought that hope would never die, so long as there was someone still left to feel it. That person had been me, once, a very, very long time ago. And just a little more than a year ago, I had thought that that person didn't believe that anymore. That because that person had been buried, the hope had also been to. But I had been proven wrong. I still believe, and I would prove it. Even if it turned out to be my downfall. And it most certainly would.

But I had to have hope, it was the only thing that I have left.

So how was I supposed to do this? If I really had no choice but to follow his orders, than how? How had that memory of us even came to me?

I had wanted to see her face, hear her voice, so maybe it was my will. Maybe if I thought of an individual memory it would come to me. That was the only way I could think that would possibly work. So how was I to do this then? Just think of it, focus on it? It seemed the only way.

Which memory should I go to first, though?

He obviously wanted me to relive all of my memories of her, which meant that I'd have to go to the first memory of her. Of how we had met. That didn't bring any kind of happiness to me. I didn't want to remember of how we had met. It was too painful to think of what I had very nearly done. But if I was correct, and I'm almost one hundred percent certain that I am, than I had to relive it all. The good and the bad. I was much more worried about the bad, than anything else. But I couldn't allow my bad memories to hold me back, and get in the way. I already knew how it would end, so there wasn't anything to worry about... right?

The question was: Would I remember knowing how it had ended. Or would it really be like reliving it? With all of the emotions, thoughts and intentions. I had a horrible feeling that it really would be. And would I relive only my memories of her? Or would it start from the beginning? The answer was simple: If it pleased him, and it most certainly would, than, yes, it'd start from the beginning and work its way up. So the odds were that it wouldn't be just memories of her, it's be of other things too.

That did not please me. But I could worry about that later. Right now I had to hurry up. He was waiting and the longer I held things off, the longer Anna was in danger.

I wasn't ready yet. I still needed time to adjust. I needed time to prepare myself. And I needed to see something else. Someone else.

This was my mind, which meant that I could go anywhere. To any memory. At any time. I could start from the very beginning. From the start of my life even. I could go back to a time when my mind hadn't been like this, dank and hollow. When I had actually been happy, a different person. Before events had made me into this. I could go back and see _her._

Not Anna, but someone else. Someone different. Someone I had once loved. Someone I had once lost forever. Someone who had been taken away from me.

Maybe I could, if I really wanted to. But everything I possessed that still had sense left in it, told me to leave it. To leave those memories out of it. I had once made an Oath to myself that I'd do everything to forget. Forget about _her_. But I had been a different person than. I was someone else now. When I had made that Oath, the scars had still been fresh. They hadn't had any time to heal. But they had long ago settled, and my love for Anna had allowed me to see that. I was stronger now, than I was back then. In that time.

So maybe, just maybe, I could go back. And see her. See me.

I was stronger now, but was I stronger enough to leave straight after? I had to believe I was, because now that that thought had been drummed into my brain, I couldn't get it out. And I couldn't just ignore it, either. This was something that needed to be done, something that _had _to be done.

So I'd take a quick look, and then I'd stop. Will myself away. That would be possible. It had to be.

I took one last look around me, before mentally stabilizing myself.

Than I thought of _her. _The one that had left me. The one that I had betrayed by allowing to leave me.

Suddenly I was somewhere else. The darkness was still around me, but it was thicker. And I knew that this part of my memory was far, far deeper than the part that held Anna. This part hadn't seen light for nearly thirty years, of course it was going to be darker. But I wasn't afraid, because I knew that I'd be able to _her_ face one last time.

And there she was, too. Right in front of me. A distant memory. Only a phantom of what she had been all that time ago.

She smiled up at me, tears in her large oval eyes. Her lips whispered words that I couldn't hear.

And then I finally heard them, it was as if they were echoing on the wind. Loud one moment, softer than the wings of an insect the next.

_'I missed you, I thought I'd never see you again. But you shouldn't be here... if they find us, you know what'll happen.' _As she finished she looked behind her, searching an area I couldn't see.

_'I know. I know all too well what'll happen. But I just couldn't stay away. You're always on my mind. And I've finally decided to not worry about them. They can't keep me from you. I won't let them.' _The voice wavered slightly, coming from nowhere, and then suddenly a scene played in front of me.

A man, clearly young, no older than eighteen, walked in front of me. Towards the woman. He was tall, and his skin was almost a ghostly white. He stopped in front of the girl, taking her hand. He drew it to his lips and kissed it, lingering much too long. But she didn't care, a glowing smile plastered on her face. Tears streaking down her rosy cheeks.

_'I love you. And I want to stay with you forever. They can't take you away.'_

_'I love you, too. Adamil Gevrard.' _

Hearing her say that name, it was as if it resonated around me. I felt as if I was going to faint, to pass out. I wanted to.

I had been wrong. I couldn't do this. This girl, this woman, was like a drug, like Skooma and once I had a taste I couldn't stop. It had taken me twenty-eight years to become immune to that name, but hearing and seeing her say that name made my secure shield shatter into a thousand pieces.

I had to get away, if not I'd be stuck looking at that face for the rest of my life. And, once, there had been nothing I'd wanted more. But I couldn't now. I had changed, and I had a duty to Anna. Anna. To Anna. My Anna.

I took one last look at her face, her beautiful face, and then I thought it. _Take me to when I met Anna._

The ground around me was ripped away, and suddenly the man and woman were gone from my vision. All that was around me was darkness. And then it changed. Light pierced the darkness. And suddenly it was gone. And a huge bright city lay in front of my eyes. Whiterun.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Well, I hope whoever's reading this, liked this chapter. I'm sorry if it's poor, I'm really not sure. Thank you so, so much to everyone whose reading Shadowed Love. I didn't expect anyone to read it, let alone even like. So thank you. If you're wondering why I didn't publish this chapter with the prologue, the reason is because I'm stupid. I didn't realise that it would take so long to do. But please don't be mad, I'm very, very new at this. I'm not sure when to put new chapters up, so I'm going to say one every week. But it could be sooner than that. It really depends, I guess. Although, I can tell you that I'll have the next chapter up by the end of the weekend. So I guess I'll see you, figuratively speaking, on Sunday! :) Oh and if you think this chapter was too long or too short than please tell me! :) **_


	3. Whiterun's Hunter

_**Chapter Two**_

Whiterun. A peaceful city. A beautiful city. A place where people roam the streets, not in fear, but in happiness. Everyone is tranquil. Perhaps it is because of the tree in the Wind District called the Gildergreen. The tree that is said to be a connection to Kynareth herself. Apparently you can even hear her whispers through the blossoming branches.

Or perhaps Whiterun is loved because of the Companions who have made their home in Jorrvaskr, a building which was made by Ysgramor himself. The Companions, protectors… for the right price, of course. Warriors. Feared by their enemies but loved by most everyone else.

Or it might even be because the first dragon was slain right outside Whiterun. Perhaps it is because a dragon was once held in Dragonsreach by the ancient Nordic hero, Olaf One-Eye. And then once more to capture the dragon named Odahviing who was an ally of Alduin… at the time. Maybe the people feel safer in a town that has captured two dragons, which was thought impossible before then.

Or maybe, maybe it isn't any one of those reasons. Maybe it's not because of Whiterun's history or people but because it just simply is a beautiful town. It is set on a large hill after all, and the view is spectacular when night is slowly falling.

But no matter what anyone said or did to defend it, I had always disliked Whiterun. It had its qualities, but I had always only ever focused on the cons. The things that made it almost unbearable to live in. Or even to be in.

For me it was too closed off from the world. Whiterun had high walls, and many, many guards at its disposal. Which meant that getting out of it was always a challenge. Challenges normally amused me, entertained me. But when you have a death sentence on your head, it was hard to get excited. But it isn't only that, it's also other things too. Like the fact that it never seems to change weather. It's always hot. Maybe not so hot that water evaporates on the air, but it's hot enough to make perspiration form on your brow.

Of course Whiterun isn't the only city that seems to radiate heat. There is also Riften and Markarth. Sometimes Solitude. But I had always favoured the cold much better than the hot. I liked to feel the snow on the ground, crushing under my feet, and the flakes swirling around my face. Clinging to my eyelashes, my eyebrows. Making my nose turn a soft red. There was just something about knowing a blizzard is coming. Maybe it's the adrenaline that kicks in, making you almost resistant to the frostbite. Whatever it is, I definitely have always liked the cold better than the warm.

Perhaps I am just being stupid, but Whiterun had never appealed to me. The first time I saw it was more than five years ago. I had had the task to deliver a message of the dragon attack on Helgen, to the Jarl. So maybe that was why I disliked it so much. Maybe because for a whole year it seemed that I was bound to Whiterun, not able to leave long enough, being the Thane, and the Dragonborn.

But that had all changed.

Because it had never been the weather or the past for me. Nor the Solitude. It was because Whiterun is simply beautiful. Majestic. Peaceful. And I had shied away from beauty, no matter where it is, or where it's coming from. I had hated beauty, despised it. Because... because I had lost the one thing of beauty in my life. And without that beauty, everything else was paled in comparison.

But then beauty had come back into my life. Belonging to someone different, in so many ways. But it had still been beauty that had let me see again. That beauty was Anna, the reason I was even here. She had allowed me to see Whiterun for what it really was. A safety. And with Anna by my side, I had felt safe in its walls.

Thinking of Anna made me feel glum. Because I couldn't have her. Not until these memories were over, and they were far from over. They hadn't even started... yet.

I looked around me, and noticed that a bright light was hitting the ground that I was standing on. The light wasn't unnatural. It was a glowing orange colour. The colour of a sinking sun. I looked towards the west, and had to instantly look away again, because of the blinding sun. By the fall of it, I could tell that night would be here within the hour. Which meant that I was very, very close to seeing Anna. In my memory. That wasn't a good thought. I didn't want to be here. This memory was _not _a good one, and it is painful to even think of it, let alone live it once more. But I did not have any choice. And judging by the time, it would be over within... I mentally counted the hours.

Seven hours. Great. But hopefully waiting wouldn't be too hard, or long.

_Well, better get this over with as soon as possible. _Which meant that to relive the memory, I'd have to find a single person. Not Anna, but myself. Which could very well be easier said then actually done. Would I have to search the city for him? No. I wouldn't. This was my memory, which meant that I most likely would've been taken straight to him. So he was close than. So close that I'd be able to see him. Maybe even touch him.

As my gaze swept over the landscape, trying to find myself, I noticed that I was standing on a wooden bridge. A wooden drawbridge. The drawbridge that lead to the gate into Whiterun. I looked back behind me. The guard towers were back there. And so was the cobblestone path. I looked forward again. And in front of me was... me. My body, more than... a whole year ago.

He was dressed in slightly rich clothes. But there was no jewels hanging around his neck, and any coin purses he had on his person were shoved inside pockets. His pockets weren't bulging though, which gave off the impression that he wasn't a rich man. I of course, knew so much better than to assume that because of his appearance. And his clothes actually didn't look like anything a rich merchant would wear. They were more casual, almost too casual. Although I only came to that conclusion because I was perceptive. Anyone who was not, like I, wouldn't think twice about it. His clothes wasn't the only thing worthy of speaking about though.

His height was another thing entirely. He was much too tall for his race. As tall as most Nord warriors, even though he wasn't a Nord. Or really a warrior. You could tell that he wasn't a warrior by his muscles. It was true that he did have some, but they weren't bulging and they weren't very big. His height and the lack of muscles made him look almost lanky. This all meant that people underestimated his power, which became their downfall. Because despite his size, it was as if the very air around him radiated power. If you had half a brain you knew not to mess with this man.

I could not see his face, because he had his back to me, but I already knew what he looked like. Light blue eyes, almost electric. High cheekbones, and slightly raised eyebrows. A slight dark shade under his eyes, as if from lack of sleep. But I knew that was not the case, the shadow would just simply not disappear. He had been born with it, like most of his family. He had no facial hair, his chin and upper lip were smooth. And lastly there was a pale pink scar that ran from below his left eye, to the corner of his lips.

I knew all of this by memory. I knew his features like the back of my own hand, as was the saying. From behind I could see his shoulder length black hair curling around his ears. One of his ears was not covered by his silky hair, and the tip was slightly pointy. Not exactly like an Elf's but definitely too pronounced for a human.

As I watched, he started walking towards the large gate. And the two guards standing in front of it.

His walk was... regal. Majestic. It was the walk of someone of high blood. A walk that you'd see on an Altmer. A High Elf. It was full of arrogance. In fact everything about him, the things I could see, and the things that I already knew, practically radiated arrogance. Pompousness. And he _was _very pompous. I could tell just from standing near him. But I had already knew. Maybe he hadn't been born like that, but maybe he had. I couldn't remember. It had been too long since those days. Even if he had been pompous earlier in his life, it had definitely not been this bad. It had intensified. Because this wasn't a normal arrogance. It was a powerful one. One that probably was partly to blame for the fact that he would be kidnapped in a year's time. I knew how he thought, and he thought that no one could touch him. That no one could hurt him. That was his arrogance, and it could be seen as one of his weaknesses. But the man would disprove of that. He never admitted that he had a weakness, or several in fact.

But why would he think that someone could beat him. Stop him. Kill him. No one had yet, and hopefully no one would. But I wouldn't be able to find that out until after I was out of this damn place. My damn mind. And to do that I needed to finish these memories.

By allowing this first memory to proceed.

And to do that I had to... watch, I suppose. And wait.

By this time, the man had made his way over to the gate leading into Whiterun. As he walked towards it, I hung back, feeling like something was about to happen, but not sure what exactly. It became apparent that this was definitely the feeling of déjà vu. The same déjà vu I had gotten when I'd seen my captor in that black and red armour. Because I had seen that armour on him before, and I had already seen this before. I had already _lived _this before. So I should know what was about to happen, shouldn't I? The only problem was, I didn't have any clue, whatsoever.

I hesitantly moved forwards, towards the tall man, and the large gate. As I got closer the man continued to walk to the gate, but then stopped without warning. I noticed the two guards that were keeping watch, stiffened when he stopped. Like they were afraid. Because as I took my eyes off the man, and instead looked closer at the guards, I saw that everything about their posture was ridged. Stiff. Obviously ready for whatever this man was going to do. And fear came off them, from every ragged breath. And this man would practically be able to smell it. It would just make everything so much more worse for these guards.

Even though I was hesitant to watch, I just couldn't look away. I needed to relive this memory, and that meant every single tiny, tinny detail. So I watched.

The overly tall man turned to look at the guard closest to him. The guard on the right. At first the guard simply did nothing except pretend to not notice him, but then after a few anxious seconds, he failed and looked towards the one staring at him. He met the man's heavy gaze, and I saw that the guard had to look up quite a bit to even met his eyes. He nodded in what was probably meant to be a welcoming gesture, if it wasn't for the fact that the man was obviously shaking. I couldn't see the tall man's face, but I could just imagine the mischievous smile that was currently being played along his lips. The man looked the frightened guard up and down, in an unsubtle way. He huffed and reached out towards the guard, his hand clenching threateningly.

The guard seemed to shrink down in size, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he had have soiled himself. Most lesser men would have. He was no doubt waiting for a punch to the face, which made me confused. Why would the guard just wait for this man to hurt him? But as the man's hand made contact, it never hurt him. His hand only clamped down on the guard's shoulder, not in a threat way, but more so in a way you'd see a tutor praising his apprentice. It was a reassuring gesture, but I could tell from here that the guard did not feel at all reassured.

The man's pale hand brushed across the armour on the scared guard's shoulder. And I noticed that the armour was quite dirty, as if it had just been in the middle of a sandstorm. And apparently so too had the tall man noticed. The man made a clicking noise with his tongue, and said softly, "What have I told you? Never leave your armour in this condition."

The guard stared at him, still clearly afraid, yet now apparently speechless as well.

However the man seemed encouraged by this behavior and carried on, "And you never know if this is going to be the thing that saves you from a dagger in between the ribs. Or the thrust of a sword into your weakling heart. Ending your little life forever. And all because you didn't keep your armour in mint condition." As he ended this, he leaned in, whispering the words the guard in a small, but dark voice. Coming out of the man's mouth, it didn't actually sound like a threat, more like a friendly warning between two friends. But because I knew who this man was, I knew that it was a threat, and a dangerous one at that. And by the way he visibly gulped, so too did the guard.

The man moved slightly back, removing his hand from the guard's dusty shoulder. And the guard seemed relieved that he was given room to move away. After the guard had taken a step or two back, he finally seemed to find some courage and said determinedly, "I'll keep that in mind... Thane Strider." As he said this, he brushed his right hand over his shoulder armour. Making some of the dust fall off.

I hadn't realised at first but now as I walked closer and closer, I saw that I knew this guard. Or at least I remembered his slightly young voice. And then as I saw his hand it clicked in my brain. I had had a run in with this guard before. It had been a very hectic night for me. Because something had went wrong with a contract and I had been trying to get out of the city, before anyone found the body. And seeing as this was the only way out, I had been forced to try to leave through this gate. And of course, this same guard had been waiting there. On his evening rounds. He had apprehended me, suspecting that I had been involved in the sudden noise coming from the Wind District.

Of course I really had been, but at the time I had denied it, knowing that if I was to own up I'd be arrested and put in jail... or killed. Anyway, this guard had tried to stop me, and I hadn't been in the mood for his games, so I'd had a very, extremely short temper. As he had blocked my way out, I gave him one chance to move. I believe I had said that if he didn't than, 'I'd make him move, and he'd better hope that he was intolerable to pain, because my way would involve a lot of it... for him.' Of course he had chose the latter, so I had proved that I wasn't bluffing.

By chopping off his index finger.

I believe that I had even kept the finger as a warning to not mess with me again, and to not speak of it to anyone. Both of them had worked, so far.

As I stared at his hand, that was missing the one finger, I can't say that I didn't feel a little bit guilty, but I couldn't focus on that, not right now anyway. You could see from the stub that was all that was left of it, that it hadn't happened recently. But a while ago, at least a few years. The skin had grown back over, but it was still an abnormal slight pink colour. As the guard lowered his hand down to his side, I wondered if it still pained him, or if he could still feel the finger. I tried not to dwell on those two questions, other wise the guilt would over cloud my mind. I did not need that right now.

The man smiled at the guard, a smile that was thick with warm friendly affection, but had a hard edge to it on the inside. "You do not need to be so formal..." He paused, looking meaningfully at the finger-less guard. The guard hesitated before telling his name, in a low voice, "Marcus, Sir."

"Ah, yes, Marcus." He said with a loud chuckle, and then he looked over his shoulder at the guard on the other side of the gate. The guard that was pretending to not see or hear the conversion going on between this tall, dark man, and his fellow comrade.

"Keep a watch out for enemies. You never know when one will suddenly pop up and attack," the man said meaningfully as he watched the other guard. Now that he'd turned I could see his face, and at the same time he raised his eyebrows in a manner that could be taken as a threat or as a friendly warning for the guards well-being.

And with that final word being said in a conversational tone, he turned his back on both the guards, and I. He pushed on the gate handle roughly and opened the right side of it, just enough for him to slip in. As he did, I started forward, walking nearer to him and nearer. But I suddenly stopped as I felt a mysterious feeling in the root of my non-resistant gut. I say mysterious because I could not place that feeling. It was the first time I had ever felt it, and so I felt a slight fear rise up in my mind. What was it exactly?

I could not tell, and there was no answer for it. But I had a feeling that I'd figure it out once I walked through that gate, and followed the man. My past self. I did not like thinking as that man as me, but it was the truth, and I couldn't put off that fact off any longer.

I moved further towards the gate, until I was right in front of it, and it was towering over me. I braced myself for what would happen over the other side, but before I actually tried to push on the brass handle, I instead looked back behind me. At the two guards on either side of me. I hadn't noticed their postures change as the man, as the past me, had crossed the threshold into Whiterun, but they had. Their back muscles weren't clenched like before, and the guard on the left side had lowered his stiff neck. The guard on the right, the one without a index finger, hadn't moved except for one of his large hands. He had it over his eyes, or at least where his eyes peeped from under his helmet. The other guard looked over at him, questioningly, and if it wasn't for his helmet, I'd be able to see his eyebrows raised.

I removed my gaze from the two guards, and instead focused on the large wooden gate looming above me. For a second, I only simply watched the brass handle. Would I be able to touch it? Or would I go right through? I didn't have a body so it seemed doubtful that I'd be able to push it open. So what was I to do? Simply walk through?

It seemed like the only way, so I did it. I walked through the doors leading into Whiterun.

As soon as I did, I felt this strange feeling. It felt like cold water was washing over me, soaking me to the bone... if I had any. If I had a body, a great shiver would have raked my body, as it is, the feeling increased in coldness. I felt chills everywhere, but that wasn't the only feeling in me. At first I hadn't noticed it, but as I got used to the chill, I realised that that odd feeling, the mysterious one, was also intensifying. As I continued to move through the gate, every step made oddly slow, I felt it again. It poked at me, prodding me, and I tried to figure out a way to stop it, but there wasn't one. At all.

The feeling was... not painful. But it was uncomfortable. And what was worse, was that it didn't subside. It just kept coming in stronger and stronger doses. Doses that made my vision spin. Especially when I finally made it through the gate, and on Whiterun's cobblestone pathway. I couldn't see anything but a lone shape. A lone figure. A figure that belonged to me, or rather, to me a year ago.

He stood just over the small bridge, near the blacksmith's. His back to me, and he searched the street in front of him, but I couldn't see anything but him. Everything else was blurry, and my vision tumbled when I tried too hard to focus on anything. Anything except him, that is.

The chills were gone, and all I could feel was that strange, uncomfortable feeling. Every other emotion in me was just, simply, gone. I couldn't feel them any more. In fact, I couldn't feel anything anymore. Not the wind against me, or the pathway under my feet. I couldn't hear anything, either. There was no sound, not even a mutter, or a patter of feet in the city. There was just nothing, except him. The man I had been just a year ago. The one who didn't feel love for anyone, not even himself. The one who felt that he wasn't worth living. The one that couldn't see people for anything except possible contracts. The one that carried a great pain around with him, and couldn't let it go. The one that didn't yet know how much his life would change in just a couple of hours.

Without even realising it, I was moving towards this man. Every second I got closer and closer. But I was not doing this. I wasn't commanding myself to move. Something else was. Something that was deep inside me.

That feeling. That feeling was doing this. I just knew it. But what was this feeling? And why was it controlling against my will?

But it wasn't controlling against my will, because as I got closer and closer to this man, I stopped trying to fight it. The feeling was pulling me towards him, and I didn't care. It felt right to be near this man, to be near this version of me. Before I hadn't been able to describe the feeling that had been bubbling inside of me, but now, because it was suddenly so much more stronger, I could. The feeling was like... like I was falling. And I couldn't stop it, I felt my stomach leave me, as I continued to fall, and just when I was about to hit the ground, I didn't. Something was keeping a hold of me. Pulling me back up, stopping me from plunging to my death. The thing that was tugging me back was something out of my control.

It was him. Or at least, I assumed that it was him, seeing as I was being tugged directly to him. What else could it be?

The anticipation was all around me as I tumbled towards him. And then, I was pulled, not to him, but _into_ him. I became one with his body. His body became my body, and his thoughts became my thoughts. I lost everything I was thinking, every emotion I was feeling, because suddenly I _became_ him. I wasn't the man who was in love with Anna, the woman who had awoken me, the one that I was doing this for. I was a man who knew no love, and who didn't want any, in fear. I became the man who wouldn't let the past settle, who wouldn't let himself forget. I became this dark, dangerous man, who knew not when to stop. And who had to constantly fight himself to become resistant to pain, and emotion. To being a mortal man. Once again, I became a killer.

* * *

An hour ago, the sun would have been streaming down on my face, warming it. Now, it was lowering into the sky, going further and further past the buildings every minute. The rays could not touch me, and I knew that in just a matter of minutes, I'd be able to feel a nice chill on the wind.

My blood pumped in my veins in excitement, not because of the prospect of feeling cold from the wind, but because I was on the hunt. The hunt for a contract. My victim. They were the prey, and I was their predator. I could never get enough of this feeling, the sheer power surging through my body, my mind, maybe even my very soul. This is why I am an assassin. Knowing that I'm stronger than them, knowing that I could kill them with a simple twist of my wrist, knowing that I could be a hundred feet away and they wouldn't be safe from my wrath. Knowing that I could turn it both ways. I could give them mercy and allow them to walk away, or I could finish their life without a trace of resistance from them.

The feeling was amazing, and I would never be able to give it up. Never.

It wasn't like a drug to me, or like a strong beverage. It was simply just a way of life, and I would never, ever, be able to change that lifestyle. And why would I have to? What could make me see past the blood and gore? The power of simply _knowing_ that I'm the strongest. And the answer is: Nothing. I would not change for anybody or anything. This was me, and I'm proud of that. Probably more proud than I really should be... but at least I knew that I wasn't perfect.

_Like some of these people... _

Crossing Whiterun's threshold, and walking down the street leading to the small market stalls, I saw so many people lazily pacing the street. It wasn't quite dark yet, so it made sense why people were still out and about. But some of these people did think that they were special, or important. Like, say for instance, this man who wore grand robes with clear cut jewels around his neck. Just from watching this man walk, you could see that he was very self-involved. Looking at the other people around him with a lazy eye. Too rich and snobby to even consider actually _seeing_ them, not just looking over their shoulders or through their bodies. Like they were merely insects to him, dirt even. I had heard this man go on and on about how important he actually was, having involvements with the Jarl, and owning a farm outside the city walls. And just for those reasons he thought that he was better than all of them, even me. But I do not care what he thinks of me, he could think anything he wanted, because it simply did not affect me. What I cared about was him thinking that he's better than everyone else around him. The farmers, the merchants, the children. I wanted nothing more than to find out that this man had a contract on his head. So I could take him away, and show him that he wasn't important at all, just another pawn in the game that is life.

Another thing I hated about going into Whiterun. The stuck up, pompous people. Who would turn their nose up to a poor beggar, in fear of him having a horrible disease. It felt too much like my past. For that I hated those people, and their beautiful city.

But I had no choice, no say, in this matter. I had to complete this contract. I had to kill this person, and the sooner they were lying dead in a pool of their own blood, the sooner I'd be able to get away from Whiterun. And the only way to succeed in killing them, was to actually find them. Which could be hard, or it could be easy. It all depended on how critical my eye actually was. And with the crowd thinning every few minutes, people going inside their own doors to eat and rest after a long day, my eye would be extremely critical. I watched them go, scanning their faces, looking for familiar ones, and new ones. Most of them I recognized, some of them I didn't, whether they be travelers or warriors. The ones that I didn't know, I watched with more attention. But none of these people fit the profile of my prey.

Female. Nord. I ticked off the characteristics as the people went past. There was a lot of people that fit those two characteristics, although that's not surprising, seeing as most people in Whiterun were actually Nords. Fair hair. Fair skin. Yes. Yes. But then, that too, was unsurprising. Most Nords do have fair skin, and light hair. Alright then, what else had Nazir told me? She was supposed to be short. Very short for a Nord, perhaps too short. I looked around for a short Nordic woman, but most were of normal height. Not too tall, but not small enough to actually be called short.

Being short could have its up and downs. One good thing was that you'd be able to hide from people much easier, than someone of great height, like myself. But with this crowd dwindling fast, I'd be able to spot an extremely short person within a mile away. Were they hiding? Did they know that someone wanted them dead? Did they know that an assassin was on their trail? And if they did know, then could they see me searching for them?

It was then that I realised that I was out in the open, clear to everybody who cared to look my way. If my prey knew, then they'd be able to see that I was the assassin, what with my not so subtle watching. Mentally chiding myself for being so obvious, I walked over to the shadows near the entrance to _Belethor's General Goods. _I could of course just use a Illusion spell. An invisibility spell. But there was no need. I didn't need to cast a spell to become invisible, I just needed a group of shadows. And then I could disappear. Although it had taken years, and years of practice for that to work. But still, I was positive that no one could now see me.

So all I had left to do now, was find this woman, and end her life. But where was she?

I recalled Nazir's words in my mind. '_Her name is Anjassa Mage-Light. If my sources are correct, she'll be staying in Whiterun, presumably at **the Bannered Mare**.' _I had given him a strange look, '_"Mage-Light" That's a strange name for a Nord. Seeing as most actually hate magic in any form.' _Nazir had laughed, a lazy deep one. _'Yes well, I suppose you would know, now wouldn't you?' _I had felt like rolling my eyes at the obvious jab of my College. It wasn't a secret that my brothers and sisters hated having to share me. Nazir had looked closer at me, his forehead had suddenly wrinkled in a worried manner, '_Be careful brother. I do not know if this woman is dangerous, but you should not underestimate her. Just in case.'_ At this I had rolled my eyes, _'If she was dangerous than why would your contact not say so?' _He had sighed, and raised his eyebrows at me, _'This contact of mine was very discreet, I didn't even see their face. In fact I don't know for sure if it was a male or female.' _It had been my turn to sigh, _'Alright, fine. I'll careful, but mark my words, she'll be of little challenge to me.' _With that I had left, and now I was here, at my destination, just not able to find my mark. But I would though, it was only a matter of time. And I couldn't afford to doubt myself now, doubt could cloud a man's mind. And right now, I needed my mind to be clear as ice.

I continued to watch the people making their way up the steps to _the Bannered Mare, _or else up the steps of the Wind District, near the Glidergreen. And the ones that were standing in front of the small market stalls. Rushing to select something of importance before the stalls closed up for the night. Which, because the sun was well and truly down, and the moon had appeared in the darkening sky, was just about to happen. After about ten or so minutes, enough for the stars to start to shine bright in the now deep blue sky, I saw that the stall that was owned by Fralia Gray-Mane, was deserted save for the said owner. She was packing up her unsold items, most of them gleaming pieces of sliver jewelry. I saw that she was stacking them in two wooden boxes, which, by the way her frail arms were shaking, were much to heavy for her to carry. I felt a small emotion in me rise up to the surface, perhaps pity, as I watched her struggle with the boxes' weight. But what was I to do? Go over and help her? The very idea was laughable. I was an assassin on the hunt for my next victim, and I couldn't allow myself to be distracted by my duty.

After another slow second of watching her, I pushed the pity back down where it was supposed to be, under everything else, hidden from sight and sound, and decided on what to do. I couldn't help her, I had a mission, and that was all I would do in Whiterun, not help old women carry boxes, because they weren't strong enough to on their own. And where was I to find my victim, well the answer was simple. Night had fallen, and by right, the Nord woman would be in an inn. In _the Bannered Mare. _I moved away from the shadows, and instead set off for the inn, not caring if anyone saw. As I was nearing the steps leading into the inn, I saw a Whiterun guard walk near Fralia Gray-Mane. It seemed his destination was straight to her, no doubt to help her, and the old woman looked up with a grateful smile. But then suddenly the guard walked right past her, not even bothering to look in her direction.

As her face fell, anger rose up inside me. How dare that guard just walk past her when she was clearing having trouble. Did he have no courtesy? No respect for the elderly at all? Or was he just to much of arrogant guard to help a commoner? Then I realised that I had just been about to do the same thing. As that realisation dawned on me, I felt guilt rise up along side the anger. I didn't bother to push either of them down. The anger rose up within me even more, escalating until it was stronger than the deep guilt inside me, and I walked towards the guard. He didn't see me until I walked directly into his shoulder. The force of my arm against his shoulder, made him nearly loose his balance.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." I said in an innocent voice. Underneath the innocence was a layer of mockery. The guard held onto his arm, and I saw anger cloud his eyes. "Watch where your going, _commoner,_" he said, vehemence thick in his voice. I detected the hints of pain under there too. That made me fight back a smile, he was obviously going to have a bruise in the morning. But smiling now could lead to a confrontation, and I couldn't have that. Not when it was essential for me to stay off the guards' radar.

I raised my eyebrows, not in a challenging way, but rather in an insulted way. That's when the guard finally took a closer look at me, and as I saw fear flash in his eyes, I let a smile tug up my lips. So maybe confrontation wasn't such a bad idea after all. But as the guard backed away, replacing his balance, I knew that that was not going to happen. He was too afraid of me. _Good, it serves him right, _a mad voice said in the back of my mind.

The guard opened his mouth to say something, but we he did no sound came out. His eyes widened in his helmet, probably waiting for me to hit him. But I didn't, I just simply looked at him. My sheer stare seemed to hurt him worse than anything I could have done with my hand, and he finally found his tongue, "I- I'm so, so very sorry. Ah, Strider, sir. Please forgive me."

I chuckled and gripped his shoulder where it hurt the most, right where I had walked into him. "It's fine. Now go about your duties. No harm was done." My voice was light, but my eyes were not, and the guard practically ran past me. Holding onto his arm as he went. This time I couldn't keep myself from smiling, and I let go of a laugh. After I had finished laughing over the guard's reaction, I continued forward and made my way over to Fralia's jewelry stand. She hadn't looked up, so I assumed she had missed the confrontation between myself and the guard, which was probably a good thing. I didn't need her to be afraid of me.

I leaned against the side of the stall, and looked down at her, the smile still strung along my face. As she felt my eyes, and obviously my presence towering over her, she looked up, a small curious look on her face. "Hello, Fralia. Do you need any help with that?" I asked, my tone friendly and conversational. I nodded to her hands, which were full with the heavy wooden boxes. A smile blossomed in her eyes, "Oh, no, it's fine. I have everything under control." As she said this, her arms shook even more, and before she could grab a proper hold of the boxes, they fell. It was as if the very Divines had agreed with me, making her drop them at the right time, to show my point. I jumped forward and caught them, with an expert catch. There was a clang of silver trinket against silver trinket, but other than that, they appeared fine. Unlike what would have happened had I not caught them in time.

The elderly Nord sighed, and held out her hands, expecting me to give them back. But I shook my head in a persuasive manner. "I'll take them. I'm happy to help a woman in need," I said with a wink of my eye, and a smirk on my face. Fralia smiled in a fond manner, and nodded, "Perhaps that would be best. A young man like you could easily hold those boxes. Oh, Strider, I'm so happy that you are here, or else I don't know what I would have done." I could tell that she meant what she said, because of the genuine happiness making her eyes twinkle. I chuckled and started walking towards the stone steps leading to the Wind District, where her house was. I heard her small footsteps follow me, so I said, "'Young man?' Hardly."

I looked back over my shoulder, and slowed my pace down as I say that Fralia was struggling to keep up. As she finally reached my position on the thick stone steps, she smiled kindly, "Come now, you can not be very old. You're in the prime of your life." I raised my eyebrows at her in an amused manner, and said with a deep chuckle, "Well, sometimes looks can be deceiving. You should remember that." My tone turned serious, and I glanced at her. She smiled up at me, clearly enjoying my expression. "It does not matter how old you look, or how old you really are, to me you're a 'young man'. And don't you forget that," she said, her own voice turning to a serious colour. She waggled a thin, bony finger at me and carried on towards her house.

I smiled and walked after her, my guilt and anger all but forgotten about. Once we had made it to her front door, and I had waited patiently for her to unlock it, I walked in and set the two boxes down on a small wooden table. Fralia looked at her empty house, the rest of her family not yet home, and then looked at me, a large smile brightening her wrinkled face. "Well, Goodnight," I said politely, already making my way to the door we had come through, but a small bony hand had grabbed hold of my long, thin one. I turned back to face her, and as I felt her warm hand curling around mine, I felt a fondness for her. I had once helped this woman find her son, and I had rescued him from further torture from the Thalmor. She was a very nice and generous lady, and even though I'd never admit it out loud, I was secretly glad that she didn't react to my presence the same way the guards do. I was glad that she wasn't afraid to be alone with me, that she felt safe around me. Of course, she shouldn't, but it still felt nice to have her trust.

"Thank you so, very much, Strider. I really am glad that you came along and helped me. It means a lot that you'd care for an old lady like myself, when you obviously have more important things to be doing. Thank you," she said softly, her voice full of appreciation. I nodded, feeling my throat get thick, I cleared it loudly. "Don't be silly, I couldn't just walk by, now could I? You don't need to thank me, I was all too happy to help." She gave my hand a gentle pat, and then after a second let go of it, allowing me to leave. I felt like bolting for the door, but as I got to it, I hesitated at it, an idea forming in my mind.

"Fralia, stay inside tonight, alright? I have a feeling it's going to get quite cold. I don't want you to catch a sickness," I said, my voice a quiet murmur, "And make sure to tell your family, too." As I finished, I looked back at her and smiled lightly, than I shut the door behind me.

Once outside, I could finally think clearly, and I tried to stop all of the emotions that were currently on the edge of my mind. Trying to make me feel things I didn't want to feel. I leaned on the House Gray-Mane, and looked up at the now dark sky. Every second that passed more little balls of gas twinkled down at me, as if congratulating me for feeling. Or more likely, mocking me.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Alright, I'm going to apologize for this late chapter. My excuse for not having it up on Sunday it this: Procrastination. That's right, I'm a procrastinator, I'm not really proud of that but *shrugs shoulders* you have to make best with what you were given. And let's just say that I had no chance, my whole family are procrastinators too... *Acts innocently* You never heard me admit that, got it? Anyway, on another note, if you could not figure it out before, the man who Strider is describing is Nazeem. My blood just boils thinking about that... arrogant... butt-hole. I'm trying to come up with a good enough word, and yet not swear for people to see. So butt-hole it is! *Evil laughter* **_

_**Ummm, anyway, so I am a bit self-conscious about this chapter, seeing as it wasn't supposed to end like that, but rather with Strider seeing his next victim. But I thought that that would make it too long so I'm sorry if I disappointed anyone, in any way. If I have then don't hesitate to tell me. :) Oh, and I'm not going to say when the next one will be up because I might be wrong... I can't really trust my own judgement... which is bad. **_


	4. A Beggar's Luck

_**Okay, so that took an awfully long time to complete. I'm sorry to anyone who is reading this, even if you don't like it (I'd have to agree with you). You can blame the damn writer's block that struck me as I was about a quarter way through, which was nigh on two weeks ago, so yeah... I'm sorry for the lousy chapter. I don't like it, but it's the best I've got. Please be honest, and tell me what you think. Oh and this chapter wasn't supposed to play so much on Brenuin... (you'll find out) but like I said, inspiration just wouldn't strike me. So, so very sorry. I can't say if the next chapter will be better, but I'll try really hard. **_

_** Chapter Three**_

The noise was enveloping, wrapping me up, until I became part of the sound. Part of the cloud that just could not be quiet. It pumped around in my head, reverberating off the walls that stood there, making me hear the sentences of words said only seconds ago. But when those words died on the air, after they had been muttered, they did not die in my mind. It was like I heard them be said out of someone's mouth, and a few seconds later they would resonate inside my mind, not allowing themselves to just disappear, like how I wished, like how they were supposed to.

As soon as I had walked through that door, the front door to _the Bannered Mare, _it had piled on top of me, almost immediately making a serious headache form. But that had been two hours ago now, and luckily I had, eventually, gotten used to the sound of a hundred different conversations all mixed together to make the already not so large room feel even smaller, if that was possible. Two hours ago I had thought that that was impossible, but now I knew just how wrong I had been.

Even if I was gradually getting used to feeling as if a thousand people were trying to talk to me all at the same time, it still didn't help the migraine that was still, even now, sprouting from one of my temples, to the other one. But that feeling shouldn't really have been foreign to me, I got it pretty much any time I was in a city. Even if that city wasn't actually Whiterun. Another reason why I preferred to be in a large area filled with snow flaked trees, and snowberry bushes, than in a city that you could possibly, and probably, get lost in because of its sheer size. But then, most of the cities of the Nine Holds are like that.

The only ones that don't have walls surrounding them are Morthal, Dawnstar and Winterhold. It's a very happy coincidence that those same cities are always cold, cold enough to chill you to the very bone, and constantly snowing. It is a rare day when they didn't have flakes of snow raining down. And an even rarer day when there isn't a storm cloud to be seen for miles. Yes, to me those cities, those Holds: Hjaalmarch, The Pale and lastly Winterhold, are almost nearly perfect. Of course they had their bad qualities, but sitting in an enclosed inn with many, many other people, made it hard for me to even think of those bad qualities. I probably would've just about done anything to be out of this damned inn, but no, not just the inn, the very city. Yes, I would've done anything, at all, to be out of Whiterun, and making my way back to Dawnstar, and to my sanctuary.

But I had a job to do. A contract to complete, and I couldn't just forget about it because I was feeling slightly insecure about my surrounding.

That line of thought reminded me that I had been sitting here for two hours, situated near the door but in a dark corner so that no one would see me unless they were actually looking for me. And that I had been on the constant lookout for this woman, my next victim -that thought made my whole body grow tense with barely contained excitement- watching the door, watching the people walk in and out, all the while keeping tabs on their appearances and characteristics. But so far no Nord woman who was abnormally short, and with fair skin and even fairer hair, had came through it. Or through any other way into the building.

Because of this woman's ever-present absence, or rather lack of, two questions were now floating inside my head. Not allowing themselves to dissolve into wisps of smoke like all of my other unimportant thoughts, until finally I had to address them. To acknowledge them.

_Where was this woman? And does she know where I am? _Another question formed in the back of my mind after the last one. _Does she know who I am? _If the answer is yes to both the second and third questions, than this mission I was currently on was about to be obliterated into thousands of tiny, worthless pieces. So then what was I to do? But maybe I was getting ahead of myself, maybe she really didn't know. Maybe she really was just late.

_Or maybe you were right. Maybe she really does know who you are, know what you about to do to her. _I shook myself as that thought appeared in my mind. It wasn't strange for it to. It always seemed to appear when I was on the hunt. Making me feel doubt in my abilities and in myself. But it wasn't abnormal for me to feel like that when I was planing on eliminating someone from this world. Because even though I'm powerful, and deadly, and people who cross me in the wrong way regret it, I couldn't allow myself to forget that I was only a mortal. That I have blood pumping in my veins like everyone around me. And no matter how much I hate it, I can be affected by weapons and spells, just like the people I kill. In a twist of fate I could be the one that is lying in a pool of my own blood, the one that is slowly leaving Nirn behind.

So I couldn't forget and leave my guard down, or else that could prove to be my down fall. And I could _not_ fall. Surviving is the key in this life, and to die is to lose, and I absolutely _hate_ losing.

No matter if she knew or not I still had to kill her, to end her life, because I had to complete this contract. I just had to. That is what drove me, as I sat there, all of the doubts in my mind not quite disappearing but not as bad as they had been before. As they might be one day. _I have to kill this woman. _

This woman who is either very late, and hasn't any feeling of self-preservation for being out so late, or is extremely perceptive and knows that she's being searched for. Being hunted, by an assassin. Who's not about to back down from the hunt. And who never will. He'd rather die than give up the contract, and the respect of his family. His brothers and sisters, who are as dark and deadly as he is. But most of all, the respect from his Mother.

The Night Mother.

She may not be his biological one, and she may have only been his Mother for his duration of Skyrim, but at least he was special to her. He was chosen by her, out of a million different souls out existing on Nirn. He was her Listener. And for whatever reason she had chosen him, it was enough for her to gain his Faith, and loyalty.

_You stay in Whiterun, this Gods forbidden hole of a city, so that you may please them. And yourself. That is why you are here, so stop being weak and start showing how much strength you have in you. And everyone that encounters you knows straight away that you have a lot. More than is healthy, or good... _I closed my eyes, and kept them closed until I realised that the vicious voice was right. I was strong, and everyone knew it. I could not let myself fall into weakness just because I wasn't happy with where I happened to be.

I opened my eyes after what felt like a long time, but was most likely just a minute or so, and stared over at the fire. A peculiar thought stuck in the wedges of my mind. When had I become like this? When had I started to feel anxious around large walls and large groups of people? Was it the feeling of being trapped? Not knowing if I'd be able to get out if the need arise? Or was it something entirely different? Was it not the crowds, no matter the size of them, but rather the people that were among them?

I had always felt like I was being watched by unforgiving eyes. Ever since I had came to Skyrim, I had felt a nervous emotion pile up in my stomach, making me feel paranoid of my surroundings. Like I was being kept tabs on by a cloaked shadow. A shadow that would disappear the moment I started to look for it. A shadow that would evaporate into thin air, leaving nothing for me. No way to trance its whereabouts. But I had become used to that feeling that would continually grow on top of my shoulders, and even once or twice welcomed it. Because I had never really thought that it was a person, or an enemy, but rather my own self-conscious.

I had always thought that it was an emotion I hated, an emotion that could be pushed away for only a short amount of time. An emotion called: Guilt.

Guilt. Blasted guilt. No matter how hard you try to beat it away, to make it disappear forever, it always, _always, _comes back. No matter what. Guilt is like a persistent insect, buzzing close to your ear, making your anger rise up, until eventually you get fed up and swot it away. And at first there is this quiet that just sounds and feels so, so very beautiful, so that all you want is to have that silence last forever. But then, just when you've finally forgotten that insect, it comes back, breaking the silence with a loud infuriating noise, that makes you want to do something rash. And then you try to catch the insect, not just to stop it but to silence it forever, and ever. But you never can. It's too fast, too smart, too sneaky. All that you achieve is a very shaken temper, and a broken spirit. Which is what it wanted.

And guilt is exactly like that. It does not matter how hard you try, it'll always beat you until finally you're ready to accept that. Accept the guilt for your actions, whatever they may be. I only allow myself to feel the guilt and to succumb to it only in my most lowest of times. The days when dying seems like the better outcome than any other solution to the sorrow. But every year those days became fewer and fewer, and hopefully they'd become non-existent before they ended up killing me. Hopefully.

But that thought would not be able to uplift my spirits. Obvious the only thing that would is getting out of Whiterun, by finishing my contract, my kill. And to do that I have to... well, wait. Simply just wait. That was extremely irritating, especially since I had been waiting for more than two hours. In an inn that was overly crowded and much too bright for my liking. Much too small for such a large amount of people too. But no matter how much I complain, if I really do need to, I can have patience.

Being an assassin isn't all about killing, that's only three quarters of it, the other quarter is making sure to kill at the right time. Which means that you need to learn everything you can about your contract, your victim. Where they live, what they look like, their habits, every single routine they have in their day. And if you don't learn everything than disaster is sure to follow, which will ultimately lead to you getting caught. And then captured. An enemy of one of the Nine Holds. Which is not something an assassin aspires for. Unless, of course, they're crazy... Which coming to think of it, you'd probably have to be to be a brutal killer like Dark Brotherhood assassins. And I know for a fact that we have several mentally hinged in our darkened family.

Not exactly a good thing, but than why else would they be called a 'brother' or 'sister'? They were almost always accepted into our midst because of their strange minds, and even stranger ways. For who else would accept them, if not us? The Dark Brotherhood.

The answer is simple, and it's also the reason why I have to complete this hunt of mine. Or else I'd lose their respect, and that was the only thing keeping me from leaving.

And so to complete this hunt, I have to find the one I'm hunting. But where in Whiterun was this woman?

I heard a deep and slightly dramatic sigh fill the space around me, and I frowned, thinking that someone had suddenly popped up next to me. Until I stupidly realised that the exasperated sigh had come from my own mouth. Suppressing my lips from twitching up into a smile, I look around me, taking in the room for what feels like the hundredth time. Now that I think of it, it probably is the hundredth time.

From my shadowy corner near the door, I can see pretty much everything. In my peripheral vision I can see the arching door frame that leads into the smaller of the two rooms. The room where the food is prepared and cooked. And the room where the staircase leading to the second story happens to be. In front of me, I can see the fire pit gleaming with a dangerous glow. The fire in the middle, crackling and spiting every few seconds, sending up sparks. The wooden benches situated around the fire pit, keeping the inhabitants warm and giving everyone a nice, slightly orange glow. And the bar where the newest late comers are welcomed, and where the rooms of the inn are hired out to anyone with ten gold septims. At the far end of the medium sized main room, there is a small flight of wooden stairs, leading up to the largest of the bedrooms. And the most beautiful and decorated of them all too. To the right of the stairs is a door leading into another bedroom. This one not nearly as fancy as the 'grand bedroom'. The walls were all made out of white oaken wood, just like most of the buildings that adorned the city of Whiterun.

But even though all of the buildings in Whiterun are made out of basic pinewood, even the grand and massive Dragonsreach, it suites the land. It suites not just the ferocious wilderness of the Whiterun Hold, but of Skyrim itself. Because Skyrim is hazardous, and like everyone seems to think, it really does appear to be quite simple. To outsiders. Until, of course, they discover that hidden under all of the dangerous and terrible land, there is a mysterious, but certain beauty. Just like, supposedly, Whiterun.

It wouldn't feel right if Whiterun was made out of stone, carved with intricate and wonderful designs, like Markarth. Or if it had towering buildings made from cobblestone and brick, all perched on a large slanting cliff face, just like Solitude.

All in all, Whiterun, and _the Bannered Mare_, are fine just the way they are. I do realise this, and accept it, I just simply couldn't give a damn.

I gave another sigh, this one much more quiet and less dramatic, and looked around me. To all of the people seated on the many, many chairs situated in the main room. And because of it being the room with more space, it also meant the room with more people. Which, of course, meant too much noise. The people around me were all talking, chatting away to other beings nearest to them. And the ones that weren't currently in a conversation, were either drinking merrily from their tankards, or eating hearty meals, laughing and chewing with their mouths open. Showing half munched food. None of them caring that they looked absolutely revolting, clearly not raised with good table manners, which Nords don't seem to understand.

And yet, it was strangely satisfying watching them. Watching how they were, how untroubled and carefree they all looked. I watched the families and friends for much too long, but not being able to turn my gaze to something else. It is not like I don't have that, the dinner with other beings that are close to you, because I do. Back in Dawnstar. Back at the sanctuary that I'll, most likely, call my home for the rest of my years. But even when I am back there, with my messed up family, laughing at a joke uttered in Nazir's deep voice, or listening to a tale of another mortal who Babette had fooled, I still never have this kind of happiness.

That kind of freedom that these villagers seemed to possess, night after night. These people, warriors and farmers and bards and merchants, could just simply let go of all of their sorrow and anguish if they have a good, hearty meal and a flagon of strong, chilled mead in front of their faces.

If only it's that simple for me. But it never had been, and it never would be. It is still hard, despite my best efforts, to accept that realisation. And I've had plenty of years to come to terms with the fact. Which should matter, but it doesn't, and frankly, would never.

I mentally shook myself. I couldn't afford to let myself such thoughts, such morbid and depressing thoughts, when I was on a mission. On a hunt. All they would do would be to distract me, and right now I didn't need any distractions. Ah, but these thoughts always come when I happen to be in such a place of, well of happiness. The whole reason why I hate waiting around for my victim, instead of actually just finding them myself. If I'm on the stalk it's hard to think of anything but of my victim, but if my brain is not busy with a meaningful task than it happens to come up with such distracting thoughts.

But would I be thinking like this if I wasn't around such merry filled people? If I was in another tavern that wasn't as popular as _the Bannered Mare_? But there's only one other tavern in Whiterun, and it definitely is not like this. Well, in appearances they do look the same. What with both being made with ashen wood, and decorated in much the same way. But I'm talking about popularity. About preferences. _The Bannered Mare_ is loved, because of its size and because it can be deeply relied upon, where as _the Drunken Huntsmen_ is different. Not because it's not a trust worthy place, because it is, but because it's small, and so has a lot less business. It doesn't have a lot of rooms, and most of its rooms are not for rent, unlike _the Bannered Mare_, and perhaps its lack of business is also because of the owner's race.

Elrindir is a bosmer. A Wood-Elf. And being an Elf in Skyrim is not the kindest thing. Especially since the Civil war between the Empire and the Stormcloaks is still raging loudly. And so the Nords are still quite prejudiced towards Elves, even if they aren't of the Thalmor. A lot of Nords, but not all, see any Elf as a Thalmor agent, although it is understandable. Anyone with a brain would hate the Thalmor for what they do, even though what they do; dragging innocents off because of their Talos worship, is actually quite a like my job. I hunt innocents, kill them, torture them. And not always because of a contract. But that is besides the point. At least I know that what I'm doing isn't right, whereas the Thalmor seems to think that they're doing the best thing they can do. I resent them for their ignorance, as do most mortal beings in Skyrim.

Right now, I'd much rather be in _the Drunken Huntsmen_, because of its peace and quiet, where I probably wouldn't be having depressing thoughts. And when I had first come to Whiterun, I had been a rather frequent costumer of _the Drunken Huntsmen _too. But that had changed over the last few years. Particularly because of the fact the Elrindir has a very large grudge towards me. So large that my name makes him spit whenever he hears it. And I know that, on the odd chance that he sees me, he wants to rip out my insides. All normal feelings towards the killer of your only brother. Of course, Elrindir has no proof, whatsoever, to accuse me of being the Dark Brotherhood assassin that slaughtered his brother in his sleep, but, nonetheless, he had always suspected me of the crime. If only because rumors in Skyrim seem to spread using the speed of wild fire.

Annoying on most days, but also quite handy too. Especially when you want to spread a warning, or to make a distraction. But hopefully this next slaughter of a resident of Whiterun won't spread so fast. At least not fast enough to stop me from escaping with my head. Worrying to think that I could be caught, but I would just have to cross that bridge if it ever comes my way.

_Or you could insure that you don't have to cross it, _a thought suddenly sounded in my mind as the front door to the inn opened and closed behind someone. Someone that could prove to be a very help distraction if the need be. Someone that was wearing ragged street robes, complete with foot-wrappings and a cap over his dwindling dark hair. Someone that was swaying all over the place, which made it obvious that he was intoxicated by ales and mead. Someone that was possibly the most poorest soul in Whiterun. Brenuin.

Brenuin the Redguard beggar that prowls the streets of Whiterun asking people for handouts, stood there for a few moments, in front of the doorway, swaying dangerously. An odd expression plastered over his dirty face, and then finally after a full minute, he seemed to decide what he wanted, and walked further into the inn. And towards the counter that was currently being serviced by Hulda, the inn's owner.

She looked up once he was near enough, a peculiar expression crossing her features. I watched Brenuin walk, or rather, stumble towards her place behind the wooden counter. When he was about a meter of so away from his destination, a feeling of anticipation formed inside my stomach. I suddenly realised what that expression on Hulda was: Anticipation. She thought, just from the mere sight of him, that something was about to happen, presumably something bad. And we were both about to be proven right.

As Brenuin continued towards the counter with awkward steps, he suddenly tripped over his own feet. As if from pure instinct he thrust out his two hands, obviously to brace for his undoubted fall. It was lucky that he did so, other wise he would've fallen face down on the ground. Instead he fell towards a man seated on one of the wooden stools in front of the counter.

I caught sight of the certain man, and instead of anticipation streaming through my stomach, a feeling of tread formed in its place. A thought formed inside my mind, _Unfortunate instead of lucky... _The man seemed to be the size of a full-grown cave bear_. _Hulking shoulders, arms firm with unrestrained muscles. I knew straight away that this man was no ordinary villager. No 'commoner'. This man was a warrior, I could see that just from his Iron armour that was scuffed and battered in more places than one. The armour created the illusion that he had just been in a haggard fight, and I didn't doubt that for a second. There was a large Iron shield strapped to one of his forearms, though I couldn't see his skin, his body wholly covered by his ragged armour. A shining hilt of a steel sword gleamed at his side, the blade sheathed in its scabbard. _  
_

I registered all of this in the moment before Brenuin hit the warrior. And than, once again, time seemed to speed back up, and it brought Brenuin inevitably falling. Straight on top of the said warrior.

Despite the size of the warrior, Brenuin's weight, even though there was hardly any, seemed to be enough to make the warrior's balance get knocked. And he very, nearly fell from his stool. The sight was actually quite hilarious, seeing a man the size of a ferrous wild animal be able to be pushed over by a man whose rib-cage was sticking out.

A smile worked its way up to my mouth, twisting the corners up, and I fought back the sudden bubble of laughter that had climbed up the back of my throat. But apparently I was the only one that seemed to find the situation laughable; a collective gasp had formed from the, now silent, crowd of people. I saw shock over some faces, but looks of outrage on others.

For the first time that night, and possibly ever, the whole of _the Bannered Mare _was deathly still. No one daring to even breathe, as we all watched the scene play out before out very eyes.

The impact of Brenuin accidentally hitting the man, not only knocked the warrior off his stool, but also made Brenuin lose his balance. I could imagine how it would've felt stumbling into the man: like hitting a solid brick wall. Brenuin hit the ground with a loud _thud, _his backside catching the floor first. I knew that he wouldn't be able to feel it right now, because of all the alcohol in his bloodstream, but he'd sure feel the large blossoming bruise tomorrow. At least the warrior was protected because of his armour, not that he even hit the floor. Because he didn't. The warrior swayed in his seat, the stool wobbling, and as it had just been about to crash to the wood floor, the warrior had jumped off of it, with surprising speed for someone in heavy armour.

I could only see the warrior's chin, which was a slight green colour, although I decided that was probably because of the lighting, because the other part of his face was hidden behind a strong horned Iron helmet. But I'd bet a hundred gold septims that an expression of anger would've clouded his features. Particularly because of the way his armour was bulging in places, as if his muscles were expanding. And because I could see his shoulders rising and falling much too fast, like he was breathing too heavily.

Right at that moment, I did _not _envy Brenuin, as he lay on the floor, blinking slowly as if trying to figure out how he had ended up there. Not that I had ever envied him, because I hadn't. Why would I when he couldn't afford to eat a decent meal, let alone live under a roof of his own? But, I did not envy him especially in that second, or that moment.

No one in the room even bothered to go over to Brenuin and help him up, or even ask if he was all right. But that was probably because they weren't shocked at seeing him fall because of him being drunk. But I had a feeling that what they weren't used to was seeing a huge man clad in tough, heavy armour standing over Brenuin in a fit of rage. No one even seemed to care that Brenuin was probably about to get his body beaten into pulp. Or perhaps they just didn't want to chance the warrior getting mad at them instead. It was not fright that made me stay my hand, but rather reluctance to reveal myself on a night when I needed to keep on the down low. And if that meant that Brenuin was going to be very sore for the next couple of weeks, than so be it.

I could see plain as day that Brenuin's well-being was slowly tumbling down hill, as the warrior moved towards him. His foot work came down heavily, almost making the floor rumble beneath him. With devastatingly loud footsteps, he walked over to where Brenuin sat. The warrior bent down, his helmeted face level with Brenuin's confused and not at all afraid one. As the warrior looked into Brenuin's glazed over eyes, I briefly wondered if he felt any fear at all. Any lesser man would have. But if Brenuin wasn't drunk, I'm fairly certain that he would've run for the hills by now. Although if he wasn't drunk than he probably wouldn't have had to worry about being bashed to Oblivion.

And as the warrior reached down and secured Brenuin from the scruff of his front ragged robes, I had no doubt in mind that he was about to be beaten for his insolence. I'd seen this thing happen before, drunkards being bashed because of them being drunk. Not really going to persuade a drunkard to stop drinking, if fact, you'd think it'd make them drink more and more, now wouldn't you?

As Brenuin was lifted off the ground, and into the air, his feet hanging awkwardly, he suddenly seemed to realise that he was in deep trouble and he started wiggling. He wrung his dark hands around the warrior's own to try to lift them off his robes. But it was to no avail. Even if Brenuin wasn't drunk I doubt he would've been able to lift the man's hands that were covered solely by thick Iron gauntlets. The warrior didn't even seem troubled by Brenuin's struggling, in fact by the way his mouth was twisting, it seemed that he enjoyed the reaction. I knew what it felt like to hold someone in your hands and know they have no escape, and I knew that this warrior was feeling the same emotion that rose up inside me every, single time. Power. Endless, dangerous power.

Once Brenuin was raised off the ground by about a meter, he finally realised that he wasn't going to be able to break the hold and seemed to slump in the warrior's grip. Undoubtedly waiting for the blow that was about to connect. But the warrior seemed content with just lifting Brenuin off his feet, he didn't even raise a hand to strike, he just watched his victim hang limp. The whole room was ghostly quiet as we all watched to see what would happen. To see how the warrior would react. Until finally the silence was broken by a grisly voice.

"Why did you push me, ha? Who put you up to it? Or did you just want a fight? Because if that's the case than you're about to get one." The warrior's voice was deeper than most men, even deeper than a Nord's. I had only ever heard a certain race have a tone of voice that deep and rough before. Orsimer. Only an Orc could have a voice like that. I wasn't especially surprised to find out that this warrior was an Orc. It just made so much sense. It suited the warrior's size and his height, why he looked so close to a bear. And it also why his skin looked suspiciously greenish.

Brenuin stared into the Orc warrior's face for a couple of seconds, a look of confusion gleaming in his eyes. He opened his mouth but no sound came out, and I deduced that he was either trying to come up with an explanation, or he didn't understand what the warrior had said. Him being drunk I'd have to bet on the latter.

Finally Brenuin seemed to understand and he muttered in a weak voice, "It w-was an accident. I tripped and f-fell." Some of his words coming out as stutters.

The warrior continued to stare into Brenuin face for another minute, obviously trying to decide if he was lying or not. And then eventually he seemed pleased that Brenuin was telling the truth. "Oh, well than apologize, and all will be forgiven," the warrior said in his gruff voice, but it was slightly softer, suspiciously like he was embarrassed. As he said this, he lowered Brenuin to the ground, his feet planting clumsily on the floorboards.

Once the warrior had let go of Brenuin's robes, I expected Brenuin to scramble back, to put distance between him and the warrior. But curiously he didn't. He just stood there, swaying now that he didn't have any support. A look of anger formed on his face, and instead of walking backwards, he walked forwards. Towards the warrior. Brenuin stopped in front of him, the anger still radiating off his features. I had a suspicion that Brenuin wasn't about to give an apology so soon, and as Brenuin stepped up to the warrior, a whole two heads shorter, I was proven right.

"Give you an apology? Why? I shouldn't have to apologize, because I didn't do anything wrong." I don't know what it was that drove Brenuin to act out at the warrior. But I suspected that it was because of the mead and ales diluting his blood, making him either brave or entirely stupid. More like brave _and_ stupid.

"What did you say?" was the warrior's response, anger threatening to break through his voice.

"Yeah, that'ssss right. I don't feeel sorry, because t-there's nnnothing to be sorry for. So don't expect me to apol-pologize." Brenuin's words came out slurred and stuttered, it seemed the alcohol was finally starting to affect, not just his balance, but now his speech.

The warrior looked down at the small drunk beggar standing in front of him, and a condescending look curled his lips up. "So, you're telling me that you think that knocking someone down isn't cause to apologize, or feel guilt over," the warrior flexed his muscles, "If so, perhaps I should teach you a valuable lesson about social courtesy."

The Orc warrior took a step towards Brenuin, making Brenuin's chest touch the warrior's stomach. Brenuin didn't shrink away like he should have but instead raised his chin in a gesture of defiance. "'Social courtesy'," Brenuin mimicked mockingly, "If anything y-you should shoooow some courtessssy to me, and w-while yyyyou're at it, make a f-formal apology."

The Orc crossed his large arms over his chest, obviously in a menacing manner. "And why in the name of Malacath would I do that?"

Brenuin raised his eyebrows, making them disappear behind the cap over his dirty hair. "Why? W-why? Bec-cause you and I both know that you didn't overre-react becaussse I knocked you over. Nooooo, I offended you because ooooof who I am. Because I'm a beg-beg-b-beggar, and to you I'm just the scum under y-your ooooover-sized Iron capped, gigantic boooots. You're j-just like the rest of this city. Prejudiced."

Now it was the warrior's turn to lift his eyebrows up. The Orc laughed a booming, incredibly frightening chuckle. "Right, so you think that I am mad at you because you can't afford a safe place to sleep at night. Or a good hot meal to come back to everyday." The Orc warrior was obviously trying to rial Brenuin up, trying to make him angry.

And it was working exceedingly well.

Brenuin's eyes turned to slits, and his forehead creased visibly. He leaned towards the warrior. I could see that he was trying to make himself stand taller, so that he was closer to the warrior's height, but he wasn't succeeding. If anything it made the warrior look even more of a giant. Brenuin opened his mouth, and I knew that he didn't realise that he was being played. He didn't realise that the bottles of mead he had chugged down were actually making his emotions ten times stronger. It was making him angrier and so easier to manipulate, which is exactly what the warrior was succeeding in doing. And his anger wasn't the only emotion heightened, either. His pride was, and so, so much easier to insult. With that hurt there was only one cure on Brenuin's mind, and he would come to regret that cure deeply in the next hour.

And the whole of _the Bannered Mare_ was about to watch it. Because of the next words that came out of Brenuin's mouth, it was obvious that a fight would unavoidably come.

"I toooold you. All I a-am to yooou is filthhhhhh. Well, I say no more. I'll stand for the injusssstices no more!" Brenuin said in a barely controlled voice. He tried to poke the Orc in his chest, but he couldn't because the warrior's forearms were in the way. So instead he moved clumsily back, settling for simply pointing a menacing finger at the warrior. He waggled his finger around a couple of times, while the warrior watched him. A slight grin was spreading his lips up in quiet amusement. Either Brenuin didn't see the action, or he simply couldn't care less.

The warrior stood there for a few moments, stiff and firm. But finally he moved, letting his strong, thick arms fall to his sides. "So how are you going to get back at them?" the warrior asked, his voice sounding surprisingly detached from his earlier amusement. As he talked, he spread his arms up, and gestured to all of the people frozen in their seats. "Back at the people of Whiterun. If you don't know, I think I could be able to solve your predicament..." the Orc trailed off in his gruff voice. I understood where this was going. He was trying to entice Brenuin. It looked like it might have been working.

Brenuin's forehead was still creased, but this time it wasn't because he was angry, rather because he was suspicious. And possibly a little bit temped to find out what the Orc meant exactly. I saw a drop of sweat slither down Brenuin's forehead, and I had a feeling that Orc would like to see that. Like to know that he was gradually getting to Brenuin.

Brenuin's eyes were still squinted, and I saw a strange emotion stir in their depths. It looked like curiosity, mixed with something else I couldn't find the name for. He seemed to think about what his reply would be, his face twisting in concentration. It reminded me of what someone who was trying to come up with a witty retort looked like. Except even that person wouldn't have taken so long to reply back. Brenuin seemed to take an eternity to come to his final decision. Whether or not he'd succumb to the desire and curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes.

Finally he, once again, opened his mouth, "What do you m-m-mean. How could you help m-me get back at-" he gestured around him with his slack arms, just like the warrior had, "-themmmm?"

"How? Easily. Show them you mean business," the warrior said, making his voice sound even more enticing than before. Everyone in this room, no, in_ the Bannered Mare_, knew what the warrior was doing. We weren't stupid, but the same could not be said about Brenuin. Not when he could hardly stand straight and talk a sentence without slurring a word. Not when he was drunk. The warrior wanted Brenuin to pay for pushing him over, for probably, even hurting his pride. And to do that, well, as I said before. There's only one cure to heal a broken pride. A fight. And the warrior would undoubtedly come out of a fist fight better than Brenuin any day. Even if Brenuin wasn't drunk.

The warrior seemed to know that Brenuin wasn't understanding so he gave him a subtle push forwards, "What better way to show the prejudiced people that you're serious than to make them afraid. To show them that you're powerful." The Orc raised his eyebrows in a slight challenge. "What do you say, drunkard? Will you show them who to respect?"

Brenuin stared at the Orc, and comprehension flashed across his dark face. He finally understood what was happening. What the Orc was proposing. "You mean fight?" It wasn't so much a question, more a statement.

The Orc's smile was twisted in amusement, "Yes, I mean fight."

Brenuin looked around him, at the staring people of the warm, stuffy tavern. I couldn't recognize the emotion that was plastered over his face, but it made me think that he was slightly nervous. For the first time that night, he seemed to actually be able to think properly without the ales burning his brain cells. Without it clouding his mind and his thoughts. Was that fear that passed over his face? There was fright in those dark, bloodshot eyes of his. He was finally starting to realise that the Orc meant business. Which wouldn't end well for Brenuin. And finally he knew that.

Brenuin looked away from the silent crowd, and instead looked down at the ground. I watched the warrior's reaction, expecting him to go ballistic, angry that Brenuin was obviously going to back out. But surprisingly there was no trance of anger over his features, or at least what I could make out of them, anyway. The Orc moved suddenly, and Brenuin looked up, the fear clear in his gaze. Obvious to everyone present, especially the Orc. I knew what Brenuin was thinking, probably expecting the Orc to pull out a heavy weapon. And that wasn't all preposterous, either. I thought along the same lines.

But again, the Orc warrior gave me a surprise, and instead of pulling out a huge dagger. He pulled out a large coin purse. The cord that was tying the purse shut was bulging, and I could tell that there was quite a few coins in there. Brenuin could see that too. He watched the Orc as he slapped the coin purse onto the wooden counter, the one that Hulda was silently watching from behind.

"You're hesitant, so maybe I should spice up the deal..." the Orc said, a mischievous smile sprouting up his lips.

I saw a flash of greed light up Brenuin's face. Quickly making his fear disappear in a puff of smoke. "W-what did you h-have in miiiind?" Brenuin asked, his eyes couldn't seem to budge from the overflowing coin purse.

The mischievous smile became even larger. "Oh, well, you know, the more traditional duel. Bets, to be frank."

Brenuin finally tore his eyes off the coin purse."Like w-what?" he asked, a slight suspicious edge to his voice, briefly pushing the greed away.

"Well, just off the top of my head. If you win I give you a hundred and fifty gold coins." The warrior waited for Brenuin's reaction, and I doubt he was disappointed with the one he was given. Brenuin's mouth opened, agape. His eyes bulged and I suddenly realised that he'd probably never even seen that much gold. Let alone owned it. Or even touched it. That much gold would be enough to feed him for a whole month, if he was careful, that is.

I watched all of those thoughts flash through Brenuin's mind, than he composed himself slowly. Realising that everyone could now see how much that gold would mean to him. Although even without his reaction it was quite obvious. Brenuin was a beggar, and to him a single gold coin was generous. Another one hundred and forty-nine gold coins, and he'd think that he'd died and gone to Sovngard.

"An- an- and w-what if y-you win?" Brenuin asked. I suspected that his stuttering wasn't wholly because of him being drunk, but partly because he was still too shocked about the prospect of having that much gold. Even if to me that amount was almost lousy.

The warrior's mischievous smile turned wicked, and incredibly threatening. "If I win? Well, lets say-" he paused, looking around him as if searching for an appropriate prize. "- You become my own personal laborer for the next twelve Loredas moon turnings."

I heard a few gasps around me, the first time anyone had dared to make a sound for the last couple of minutes. But I understood their shocked expressions, and the reason for the sudden out break of mutterings around the room. For twelve Loredas moon turnings. For three months, Brenuin would have to be the warrior's slave. I could just imagine what the warrior was thinking right now. Probably planning the atrocious services he'd order Brenuin to do. It was obvious that the Orc thought that he'd win, and I'd probably ridicule a normal person for being so arrogant. But it was also obvious that Brenuin would never be able to win this fight. Only nothing short of the Gods could help him to stand a chance, let alone him actually becoming the victor.

All of this should have been streaming through Brenuin's brain. He should have been refusing by now. Telling the warrior to leave him alone. Walking away and not looking over his shoulder. Leaving the coin purse and the tavern behind him. But it seemed that he couldn't get the said purse out of his mind. It was controlling his thoughts, and controlling his actions even more than the mead that had diluted his body. Greed churned through Brenuin, and as I watched his expression change from anger to lust, and lastly to determination, I knew that he wasn't about to give up. He wanted that gold, and he was about to do just about anything for it.

Brenuin nodded, and he set his shoulders, as if trying to prepare himself for the fight that he was agreeing to. I looked towards the warrior, expecting to see him doing the same thing. To see him pumping the blood through his veins, but instead all I saw was him standing there. Menacing like always, but just standing there. Acting as if he was a statue. Frozen in solid. The only thing that moved was his face, his mouth moving to set in a satisfied position. Than suddenly it changed, and a type of grim seriousness radiated from him.

Brenuin stepped back from the Orc, finally giving the two of them distance. But the warrior didn't move towards Brenuin like he probably expected, like I expected too. No, he just continued to stand there, as if seizing Brenuin up. Because, suddenly it dawned on me, he was seizing Brenuin up. Obviously trying to find his weak spots, which was pretty much his entire body, what with him hardly able to stand without swaying.

I watched the Orc watch Brenuin. From the corner of my eye I could see that fear flashed in Brenuin's gaze again. He was, of course, freaked out by the warrior's never ending gaze. Any lesser man would have. But I didn't stew on that, no, I continued to watch the warrior, trying to figure out what was going through his head. How he was thinking. It was what I automatically did when I was watching an enemy, trying to decide what their next move would be. So I could decide what my countering move was. And that was exactly what the Orc warrior was doing to Brenuin.

I don't know if Brenuin understood that, or if he was just too scared by the Orc's eyes to realise. But he couldn't have stopped it anyway, even if he'd tried.

You could learn a lot by a person by watching them fight. Seeing if they can handle themselves. Seeing if they're a novice or a skilled warrior. Seeing if they have a certain fire to their actions; if they're brave. Or if they act weakly. Cowardly. And the whole inn was about to see how strong this brute of a warrior really happened to be in battle.

Finally the Orc broke free from his statue like nature, and he finally seemed to find the weakest spot on Brenuin. He took a step towards him, his muscles clenching in a wicked way. I looked away from the warrior, who was advancing on Brenuin, and instead fixed my gaze over his shoulder. For the first time that night, I really looked at Brenuin. I looked at him in the way that someone would look at another soul who they knew was about to leave them. In the way that you'd look as if trying to memorize every feature, every little tiny movement. It was also the way that I looked at someone when I needed to remember them. When I wanted to. When I recognized that they weren't someone random but actually there. It also happened to be the way I looked at my victims.

I saw that Brenuin's skin was pale. Almost ghostly so. And slightly green. His eyes were startlingly bloodshot, even more so than just a few minutes ago. He swayed in his rooted place, as if a wind threatened to blow him over, him being the only one that could feel it. And there seemed to be a liquid slowly inching out of the corner of his cracked lips. It presumed it was saliva. The sight of Brenuin like that made my stomach churn dangerously, and I waited for what was inevitably to come. Or rather, what was to come _up_.

But the warrior didn't even give Brenuin the chance for that. He didn't seem to understand that Brenuin was in no fit state to fight. Not that Brenuin ever had been while drunk, but even more so with a substance churning in his stomach. Obviously about to start threatening to rise. Brenuin stumbled back, and the warrior mirrored his action, stepping forward after him. The warrior took three more steps towards Brenuin, until they were only a head's width apart.

Then the Orc warrior sprung forward again, erasing the distance between the two men. The lanky drunkard Redguard, who was nearly as green as his opponent. And the Orc who was as tall as a giant, and as menacing as a sabre cat. The sabre cat pounced, grabbing hold of the drunkard's front robes, for a second time that night. Except this time, the giant raised his fist, ready to strike within a split second.

If it was even possible, Brenuin paled some more. His face as white as the snow that gathered on the ground around the city of Windhelm. As pale as the flakes that rained down everyday a top the towers of the College of Winterhold. Brenuin closed his eyes, knowing what was coming, knowing it was going to hurt like the kick from a horse. Or the bite from a feral hound.

No one battered an eyelid, no one breathed a word, as everyone watched what was about to happen next. No one, nobody at all, opened their mouth to utter a 'stop', a cry of rage. Did nobody care for Brenuin's health at all? Was everybody too self involved to chance the warrior's wraith? Were they too cowardly, or did they just not give a damn?

It seemed that, as the warrior moved back his gauntlet adorned fist, only a single soul cared enough to intervene.

"All right, that's enough. You've frightened him until he's about to sod himself, now leave it be." Hulda's voice shouted in anger, and exhaustion. The warrior paused, his fist only two inches from Brenuin's face. He froze, and even though I couldn't see his face, not only because of his helmet, but also because his back was to me, I knew that anger would've twisted his features.

He slowly turned, Brenuin's robes still held firmly in one hand. "Hulda, stay out of this," the Orc said, in his threatening voice.

I turned to look at Hulda, as did every other pair of eyes in the tavern. She walked around the wooden counter, picking up the bulging coin purse on her way. She walked forward, until she was standing near the Orc, close enough to touch. "What are you going to do if I don't?" she asked, an obvious warning ringing in her voice.

The Orc huffed, for some reason not willing to threaten the woman. Which was understandable. Hulda was tough, and even though she probably wouldn't to a victor against the warrior if it came to a fight, she was loved by most people of Whiterun. And even if no one was willing to stick up for Brenuin, they'd definitely stick up for Hulda if she was threatened. The warrior knew this, and Hulda could see it. She had the upper hand in this argument.

"I wasn't going to kill him, honestly," the Orc said in a defiant tone of voice. He shook Brenuin, causing the dark man to finally open his eyes. Fear was plain as day in them.

It was Hulda's turn to huff in annoyance. "No, you were just going to beat him senseless," was the woman's hard answer, crossing her arms over her chest.

Now that the Orc had turned I could see him in front of my full vision, and I saw that wicked smile curl up his lips. "There's nothing wrong with that. He needs it. Look at him. Drunk and helpless. Maybe it's exactly what he needs to wake up to himself."

Hulda did as he said. She turned towards Brenuin, and if I wasn't mistaken her eyes became sympathetic. But then they hardened again, returning to normal. "I don't care what you think is best for him. I know that he's drunk, and that he didn't apologize to you. But you're acting like a child. Let him go and sit back down to your dinner." The warrior made a snort of disgust, but Hulda held up a hand. "If you do not let him go in the next five seconds, I'll fetch the guards to escort you out."

The warrior stared at her, his hand clenching Brenuin's robes even tighter, his raised fist slightly shaking. Hulda didn't back down as he would've liked, in fact her glare was so toxic that I was surprised he wasn't a puddle of water at her feet by now. Every second that passed seemed to take two hours, but than finally, with a snort of rage, the Orc lowered his hand. And let go of Brenuin's robes, making him fall. Crumpling to his knees weakly. Brenuin sat there awkwardly, not quite knowing what had happened. Until Hulda moved over to him, pushing the hesitant warrior out of her way. She helped Brenuin up, surprisingly strong enough to hold his drunk weight.

It was then that a man stood up, the first movement from the crowd, and he hurried to help the Nord woman with her drunk load. As the polite man and Hulda half carried, half dragged Brenuin in the direction of the door, I watched the Orc. His shoulders were slumped, and he sullenly walked over to his previous seat. After heavily sitting down on his wooden stool, he played with a tankard of what looked to be mead. He looked depressed. With a small smile, I agreed with what Hulda said. He was acting like a child.

To my right a heard a grunt and a slurring voice say, "Put m-me dooown, puuuut me down. I'm f-fine. Didn't yoooou hear m-me." I looked over in time see Brenuin being set down by an angry Hulda and that generous man. Brenuin leaned against the door in a defeated manner. I saw a look of sadness on his face, which confused me for a moment until, he said, "You shouldn't have in-inter-" he sighed, a deep angry one, at not being able to pronounce the word. "Yoooou shouldn't h-have stooopped him. I c-could have taken him. I c-c-could have had that m-money, but no, n-nooot now. Well, thaaank yooou v-very much Hulda."

That's when the light clicked on in my brain. Of course he was upset, why wouldn't he be? He had come so, so close to having all that money, and now he had nothing. The same as what he'd had before. A twinge of guilt rose up in me, despite everything, I pitied him. It wasn't easy being poor in this world, especially in Skyrim.

Brenuin didn't even wait for Hulda to explain herself, or for the man that had helped her carry him walk away. Instead he tugged open the door roughly, a gust of cool fresh air hit me and I couldn't stop myself from taking a deep breath. It seemed to have the same affect on Brenuin, but than after a second of hesitation, he stumbled out into the cold night. Just as roughly slamming the door in Hulda's stressed out face. I saw her shake her head, and move as if to go after him. But then she didn't and she just stood there.

I felt rooted in my place, despite the cool air that had just drafted in, I felt a drop of sweat form on my brow. I had been supposed to go after him. And I had let him go. Now he was no help to me. _Unless you can find him outside... _some little voice said in the back of my mind. I nodded to myself. Willing myself to stand up and move to the door. To open it and feel that nice, cool breeze again. But something in the back of my mind told me not to. A feeling of excitement shot through my system, and I stared around me in confusion. Why was I excited?

On some type of level I tensed as the door opened again. Frosty wind blew in, and I expected to see Brenuin back again.

But it wasn't him.

It was someone else.

Someone who when I looked at, I couldn't look away. Once my gaze shot to that person, the feeling of excitement bubbled up until it felt as if I was going to explode.

Everything in my body pulsed as I continued to stare. I heard my breath come out in a ragged gasp, and I heard my seat creak under me as I leaned forward. Not even realising what I was doing.

As I stared at this person, this incredibly short female person, one thought made it through my mind. _She's here... My victim has arrived. _


	5. An Inevitable Sighting

_**Chapter Four**__**  
**_

_Finally... She's finally here. _

I couldn't stop myself from staring, how could I not? It hadn't been my longest wait, in fact it had been quite short, but I only saw just how impatient I had been now that I didn't need to wait any longer. Because she was finally, finally here. My contract would be completed, and in only a few short hours, or less, I would be traveling back to my sanctuary. Then I'd be able to relax, but not yet. No, not yet. I still had to wait some more, but now that I could finally see that she really did exist, I knew that those remaining minutes wouldn't feel so humongous.

And then the anxiety came back. Did she know about me? Or not? I couldn't tell for sure, not when there was absolutely no way for me to know her thoughts, but if she did suspect something than why did she look so... relaxed? But no, relaxed wasn't quite the way to describe this woman. More like... calm. Collected even. There was a certain aura radiating around her that made me think of monks. A religious person. Someone to believe in the Gods, which would make sense, seeing as most Nords at least believed in Talos. Even though technically he wasn't an official God, so to speak.

And then I realised why I had gotten that certain vibe from her. It seemed that this woman reminded me of High Hrothgar. Or rather of the people living inside its wonderfully peaceful stone walls. That train of thought lead me to question whether or not she had been there before. But I immediately struck that thought as worthless; of course she had never been to High Hrothgar. How could she? She was a new arrival to Skyrim. That didn't mean that she had never been to Skyrim before this year, but how I was I supposed to know? And why would I even _want_ to know anyway?

But the answer was so, so simple even a war hound could see it clear as day. I didn't care if she'd been to High Hrothgar, or if she had successfully met the Greybeards. Because this woman was going to die before the morning light brightened the sky. And then all of her characteristics, her memories, basically her whole existence would be wiped from the world, never to be seen again. As I continued to stare dumbly at this small woman, I wondered where her soul would end up. Would it go to Sovngarde? The historical haven exclusive to only those of Nordic blood-line. Or would her soul be forever in the wisps of my master's world. The Void.

I had always had doubts about death. About where exactly lost souls went. Was it to Sovngarde? To Oblivion? To The Void? Or did old souls just watch us from above. Not having any place to go, at all. Everyone believed differently, as we all have different views of the world around us. But which belief was the right one? Or was there no right belief, what if it was just darkness? Utter and total blackness. Being an assassin, I had always thought that if anyone truly deserved to know the truth, it was I. For who better to know the truth than the one that sends countless, limitless souls to their rightful place?

But so far my studies and wishes had proven nothing. But that was unimportant, or at least it was for the current moment.

A sudden movement in my peripheral vision made me break my gaze from my newest soon-to-be victim, and instead I turned towards a ruffled looking Hulda. She was still holding that bulging coin purse, the one that had temped Brenuin so much, in a strong grip. Clutching it much too tightly in her hand. She turned to look at the door, as it swung shut with a hollow _thump. _She didn't look surprised to see the short woman, if a bit discontented. I figured that it was more so to do with Brenuin's angry storm out than the newest arrival, though.

Except the short Nordic woman obviously didn't know about the almost-fight between a drunk beggar and an angry Orc warrior, and I saw confusion flutter over her face as she registered Hulda's upset expression. I had been so absorbed in watching the woman, that I hadn't realised that the tavern hadn't yet gone back to its normal loud, deafening self. Many, many pairs of eyes locked onto the woman's figure, and I watched as the woman's face redden considerably.

The crowd didn't seem to understand that they were gawking at an innocent bystander, and some even looked the woman up and down, in the way a buyer would look at a merchant's trade. The woman twitched in an awkward manner, but she stared back at the large crowd just as much as they stared at her. I saw her swallow, and continue to look around at the people, that same look of confusion covering her face.

Was it bad that I suddenly felt commiseration for this unfortunate woman? I had no right to feel sympathy for this stranger, not when I planned to take her life before dawn. But I couldn't help but feel anger at the crowd. Didn't they even have an ounce of decency to see that she was uncomfortable and confused?

But it appeared that I wasn't the only mortal in the fire-lit room to see this lady's awkward stance. Or to feel maddened at the rude crowd of villagers.

"That's enough gawking for one night. Get back to your dinners and mead. There's nothing left to see; Brenuin has left. That's the end of the excitement for one night, folks." Hulda's voice was filled with calm authority, but just enough blunt force to make the appearance that she meant business.

And everyone in _the Bannered Mare_ knew that there was no messing around with the innkeeper once something has gotten on her nerves. Hulda was actually quite lenient with her customers, just so long as they behaved themselves and didn't cause anyone else trouble. The only thing that really ticked her off was drunkard brawls. Once that kind of trouble intensified she was normally to be in a terrible mood for the remainder of the long night. Which meant that she could snap at anyone, friend or foe, if they so much as looked at her the wrong way. And the current customers of _the Bannered Mare_ knew this, which is why they all looked away without hesitation. They didn't need to be told twice.

Hulda seemed to find their reaction pleasing and so she moved towards her possible new customer. She held out a hand in a polite and tactful manner, "Hello, welcome to _the Bannered Mare_. How may I help you, miss?"

The new comer took the innkeeper's hand, but it appeared to me that she found it hard to look away from the crowds of people, who were now starting to liven back up. Finally, though, she tore her gaze away from the strange groupings, and instead locked eyes with the welcoming woman in front of her. "Ah, hi," there was a slightly awkward pause as she watched Hulda, "We met this morning. I rented a room here for tonight."

It seemed as if a light came on in Hulda's brain. "Oh, of course. Yes, I remember now. You're Anjassa, are you not?"

My breath came out in a gasp of air; I was right, this woman really was my victim. I had known before, of course I couldn't mistake that feeling of happy excitement whenever I acquired my target, but it had been more speculation than actual hard fact. Unless of course, there happened to be two Anjassa's in Whiterun, staying at _the Bannered Mare_. Which seemed highly unlikely. It was then that I became aware that I still leaning forward in my seat. But I couldn't change that; I couldn't seem to remember how to activate my muscles.

The woman, my victim, Anjassa, nodded her head in confirmation at the halfway question halfway statement. She gave a small smile, and I saw a hint of a slight dimple in one of her cheeks. The smile wasn't full, though. It didn't stretch to her eyes, which I couldn't see the colour of, even though I was very, very close to the two women. Perhaps three feet away. Although I doubted they could see me, even with my obvious tense posture, because of the shadows clouding my choice of spot.

Hulda smiled in response, "Well, it's nice to meet you, again, Anjassa." Hulda dropped her hand out of Anjassa's grip, which I could tell wasn't very firm.

"Likewise," Anjassa said in a tad bit timid voice. I had a feeling that the shyness had only exposed itself because of the crowd's earlier stares, not because she was feeling uncomfortable. But her voice was still leaked with genuine politeness too. Which made up for the slightly unenthusiastic smile.

A grimace formed over Anjassa's face, and I thought I saw her forehead crease; it was hard to tell whether or not because of the strands of fringe hanging down, hovering just above her eyebrows. I was confused at first, much like she had been once seeing all of those stares, but than I realised why. I placed a hand to the side of my head. The noise was back. And because it hadn't been present for such a long while, I had forgotten what it had felt like. But I sure remembered now. I also remembered what my migraine felt like. And it seemed to remember where it had left off. _Dammit!_

Hulda frowned as she saw the grimace over Anjassa's features, either not realising why or not hearing the deafening familiar sound. Most likely the latter. She probably didn't even hear the loud noises anymore, seeing as she was used to it, which she'd have to be, owning a popular inn and tavern. Than her frown turned into a grin as Anjassa placed a hand over one ear, trying to be subtle. Obviously not succeeding, though.

"Don't worry about the noise, it's natural for _the Bannered Mare_ to sound like this. In fact if it didn't I think the world would be coming to its end, and that's already very nearly happened once. Pray to the Gods that it isn't such a close call, next time. If indeed there will be a next time..." she trailed off, a slight rise to her voice volumes to be heard. Hulda shook her head, as if trying to shake away bad thoughts, "Anyway, would you like to sit down?"

Anjassa smiled again, that same small slightly sad smile. "I reckon it would be good to get off my feet for once," she said in a slightly suggestive tone.

Hulda's smile widened. "Oh, of course. You do look like you need to sit and fill your belly with some nice food." Hulda turned around, and gestured for Anjassa to follow her. "Right this way," was all I heard before the two women melted into the crowd. I could still see them, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to hear their further conversation from my current spot. Which was a downer, seeing as I felt my curiosity rise up my throat once my victim was soon meters away. I'd either have to deal with the fact that I could no longer eavesdrop, or I could move closer to them. Which was the right decision?

It was obvious as I felt a slight pull in my gut, what I should do. I finally moved from my leaning forward posture, and instead got up off the chair. I searched around the room, trying to find where the two Nord women had gone to, but I needn't search for long; I soon found them over at the wooden counter. Anjassa hadn't yet sat down on one of the bar stools, but I knew that she would. As I moved away from my shadowy corner, and towards the center of the room, I saw that Hulda was leaning on the counter, talking to Anjassa. As I got even nearer, I heard what I presumed was the end of Hulda's sentence, "...Like something to drink as well?"

I saw the back of Anjassa's pale head dip, but she seemed to hesitate, as if trying to decide what she really wanted. Finally she opened her mouth, "Just a jug of milk for me. I don't want to lose my senses before bed."

It appeared that Hulda raised her eyebrows, "Bed? It surely isn't that late."

Anjassa dipped her head once more, "Perhaps, but to me I could sleep for an eternity. Exhaustion does that to you," she said, her tone impassive and calm all at the same time. As she conversed, she sat down on a stool. A wooden stool right next to the Orc warrior who had been so close to getting Brenuin as his slave, or should I say 'laborer'. His big bulk hid her small structure, and I mentally groaned with frustration. What was the point of locating your target if you could not see or hear them? But at least I could still hear her, I suppose.

_Stupid Orc! _I didn't bother to try to suppress the thought. It was not like any but myself could hear me. Except as the Orc suddenly turned around, his eyes peering over his shoulder, I felt doubt form inside me. Had he really heard me? Or had it just been a coincidence? It seemed as the Orc turned back to his tankard of mead, that it was the latter. Just a coincidence. I shouldn't have worried anyway, even for the briefest of moments. My mind is as certified as I think. As I know.

Thankfully I could still see Hulda. So perhaps from her reactions I'd be able to guess what my victim's was. Perhaps. But I normally was good at reading body language, a must if aspiring to be a trained assassin. So most likely I would be able to. That was good. Reassuring myself, I walked closer still. If she didn't know about my intentions than it wouldn't matter if she saw me, but I would rather she didn't. Just to be on the safe side. That was my way of working: To watch from a distance, to only reveal myself once it was time to land the killing blow. And I always, always made sure that I was alone with the target when it was time, or else the repercussions would be disastrous. It was just the way I did it. My routine would never change, and I honestly didn't want it to. And why should I? It had worked well so far.

"Exhaustion, huh? You've had a long day?" Hulda asked, concerned. I saw her lift a jug of milk from below the counter, still corked and all. After uncorking it, she poured some of its contents into a light grey tankard, filling it up to the brim. Hulda held it out to Anjassa.

I assumed that Anjassa took it, because when Hulda pulled back her hand, the full tankard was gone. I heard a sigh, "Yeah. An incredibly long day. To tell you the truth: I'm just glad that it's finally drawing to a close." There was a deep pause, then I heard Anjassa give another sigh, this time a contented one. "What is that sweet quality? Is there honey in this?"

Hulda laughed, "Ah yes, that must be one of Ysolda's new recipes. She seems to enjoy mixing ingredients into ales and mead and such. But so far nobody has complained. They seem to actually enjoy it, something you have in common with my other customers. I wonder... Can you detect any other ingredients?" I was surprised by Hulda's laugh, because suddenly she didn't seem so annoyed anymore. It seemed that her newest customer was helping lift up her mood.

I heard the chapping of lips, as though Anjassa was trying to taste some new flavour inside her mouth. "Hmm, is that," she paused, making the strange sound again, "Blue mountain flower?"

Hulda's laugh was even more happier than the last, "Probably. I have no idea. Ysolda kind of just throws different plants in, hoping they'll improve the taste of normal, ordinary liquids."

"Well, it certainly does. But I hope she hasn't used any ingredients like, say for instance, Nightshade." At first I thought that her comment sounded a little bit mocking, I mean come on, who would be so stupid to willingly mix Nightshade (a plant that could be used to craft the most powerful poisons if brewed by a professional) into milk? But than I realised that her voice had not even an ounce of sneer to it. She just sounded worried, and completely uncertain.

I saw Hulda give a shrug, her shoulders slightly rocking from the rack of chuckles escaping her mouth. And tumbling down her diaphragm. "We can only hope not, I suppose..." she trailed off again, but in a slightly different tone of voice this time. This time it sounded like she was trying to scare Anjassa. And because I couldn't see her face, or even the tip of her pale head, or any other part of her small body, I couldn't figure out if it had succeeded or not. I ground my teeth, infuriated, even more so than when I'd had to wait for Anjassa's arrival. Again I cursed the Orc in my mind, except this time he didn't look around.

But rather, he turned his head towards Anjassa's direction. I don't really know what I expected him to do or say, but I know that I needed to see what Anjassa's reaction was to his sudden alertness to her presence. I thought that he'd say something, anything, odds were aggressive, but instead he just stared at her. Than after a few seconds, which felt like hours to me, he turned and fixed his hard gaze upon Hulda instead.

He nodded to her, "I still haven't gotten that coin purse back, and I'm expecting it. Unless you care to try what he couldn't..." The Orc's voice turned to that of silken butter. Slippery, almost.

Hulda's face darkened and she shot him a fierce glare, "I forgot..." she paused as if steeling herself for the inevitable end, "Sorry." It seemed genuinely hard for her to apologize, much like it had been hard for Brenuin to apologize. But maybe it was simply because people did not seem to want to say that one word to the Orc's face. That was quite understandable. The Orc was arrogant and intimidating, obviously making people in his vicinity feel weak.

She pulled it out from one of her pockets, and I realised that she must have put it in there for safe keeping without me seeing it. She tossed it to him, and I could just imagine the look of satisfaction spreading his lips up, partly because his coin purse had finally made its way home, by probably mostly because he'd finally gotten an apology from someone. I don't think it mattered whose lips it was uttered from.

"'bout time," he said aggressively, and caught the purse with a lazy swipe of his arm, before the purse could succumb to inevitable gravity.

Hulda raised her chin, and I saw her visibly huff in frustration. She moved away from the counter with a mighty push, anger written all over her face. "Well, I suppose I should go and make your dinner, Anjassa. It shouldn't be long, not with Ysolda's help anyway," she laid a hand on Anjassa's arm, "Make sure not to go anywhere. I'll be back soon." I noticed that her voice was slightly warning. She turned her back on Anjassa, and the Orc, but not before giving the said latter a fierce glare.

The Orc didn't even bother to acknowledge Hulda's leaving, even if it was suppose to be only for a short amount of time. In fact, he didn't even bother to turn back to Anjassa, who I now craved to see. What was she thinking about the Orc? What expression did she now wear? I may not have been able to acquire the answer to the first question, but I could damn well know the second question's one. If only I could just see her, without actually being too near to her.

My clear, perceptive eyes searched the room, trying to locate an appropriate seat. All too quickly I found one, and I strode towards it quietly, walking not too fast but not too slow. A couple of people posed as an obstacle in my pathway, but I steered clear of them, making sure to lean away from everyone so as to keep from unnecessary handling. The last thing I needed was for someone to recognize me. As I made it to my new spot, a meter away from the counter, and the occupants, I knew that I had gotten past everyone without their suspicion and with their trust firmly in place. No one suspected a thing. And why would they? I was just an ordinary man walking across a room.

I sat down on the hard wooden surface of the chair, and my gaze flickered away from my victim for just a moment. For a split second I saw who I was sharing a small oval table with, and I grimaced, quickly looking away. Jon Battle-Born was currently locked in an embrace with none other than Olfina Gray-Mane. Four or five years ago that would've been a horrendous treason to both of the feuding families. And I knew for a fact that just a number of months ago these two lovers had been the talk of Whiterun. The gossipers of the city had made sure of that. But eventually the lovers had become old news, and everyone had moved on. Much to Jon and Olfina's happiness, and their families annoyance and disgust.

I knew that it wasn't a rare sight to see the two of them in public, together like they were now, but it still made bile form in my throat from revulsion. The least they could do was tone it down, leave it for the bedroom, so to speak. A huge huff of distaste rose up inside me, but I clamped my lips shut before it could make its escape. Upon hearing the unfortunate noises coming from the couple, I adjusted my position on the chair, angling my body towards my victim. And shutting off my right ear in synchronization. It didn't totally succeed though; I could still hear muffled noise from them.

I tried to wipe the mental picture of Jon and Olfina's lips being molded together, and instead focused onto the small woman in front of me. I was so close to her that if I just extended my arm I'd be able to touch the end of her left shoulder. But I couldn't of course. That would ruin my incognito invisibility. So I just sat back, and tried to relax. Harder said than done, what with the image of the two lovers burned into my brain. Being near them was more than enough to make me twitch with uncomfortable energy.

But than a strange noise interrupted the image, I looked up at the sound and saw the noise once again rise up from Anjassa's mouth. I immediately realised that she was clearing her throat hoarsely. I wasn't the only one that had been shaken out of their thoughts by her throat clearing. It seemed that, as the Orc looked to her, settling his steely gaze on her, he had also been disturbed. Except he didn't seem to appreciate it, unlike myself.

I had a clear view of him, and Anjassa, which was most to my liking. But I kept the satisfaction off my face rather well, the stony mask still cemented on. From my view I could see the Orc's eyes turn to slits through his Iron helmet, and I waited for Anjassa to cower away from him. Or at least to see her push her stool further away, more towards me. But instead of that, she just met his gaze. Seeming to be comfortable with his annoyance. This time I had to work to keep my face from expressing my shocked emotion. How was she not afraid of this man?

She cleared her throat again, louder this time, either to spite him or because she was feeling uneasy, I couldn't tell. "So, uh, why did Hulda have gold that belonged to you?" Anjassa asked quietly, but not in a frightened manner like she should have been.

I got the distinct feeling that the Orc raised his eyebrows, "She would say it was because of a misunderstanding." I noticed that his voice was slightly exasperated.

I could see on Anjassa's face that she knew that 'she' was a reference to Hulda. "And what would you say?" Anjassa asked, curiosity clouding her voice.

The Orc kept on looking at her for sometime, obviously trying to decide if he should be deceitful. Finally he seemed to have made a decision, "I say that a worthless worm just got lucky for the first time in his life, all because of a woman." Anjassa opened her mouth, obviously about to continue making queries, but the Orc cut her off. "We had a bet, and I would've won it, if it weren't for the innkeeper. And now the drunk beggar gets to be the coward that he is, and walk away, without any deserving punishment. Despicable."

The Orc gave an angry sigh, letting out his pent up hostility. He raised his tankard to his lips, and drank heavily, than slammed it back down to the counter, causing some mead to splash over the tankard's brim. Anjassa didn't even react to the Orc's tantrum at life, she just raised her own mug of liquid, but hesitated before actually downing any creamy milk. I watched as she stared into the tankard, a peculiar expression shadowing her face. I accepted the look as that of careful consideration. Than determination.

She set her tankard onto the wooden surface, it barely giving a small _thunk_. Her gaze settled on the Orc, who hadn't yet turned back to face her. "I hope you aren't insinuating that this 'drunk beggar' is a worthless worm just because he's a beggar. Because if so than you should learn to change your opinion of this world; it's not as easy to earn gold as you've been lead to believe, trust me."

Now the Orc stared at her, dumbfounded at the accusation. His mouth was ajar from the shock, but then his face changed and I saw anger flash over his whole body. "What are saying? That I'm a prejudiced fool?" I heard a noise of protest resonate from her but he, once again, cut her off, "If so than you sound like the worthless beggar. Who made his presence worse on us by being drunk."

He was clearly insinuating what she thought, and it pissed her off to no extent. She turned her head away from him, towards me. I shuffled involuntarily, my nerves getting the better of me. I turned away from her eyes, which hadn't settled exactly on myself, only in my direction. Before I glanced away, I saw her roll her eyes back into her head. The whites showing for just a second, than they went back to normal. I fought to hide the smirk currently forming on my face. But I couldn't help it, her reaction had entertained me.

She turned back to the Orc, her face a steel mask. "Look, I don't know how and if this man even bothered you in the first place, but if the only reason you're acting this way towards him is because he's a beggar, than you're in the wrong." She raised her chin, held up high and steady. I couldn't see much of her features, only the side of her pale face, I but I sensed a certain air of calm defiance from her tiny body. This time I didn't succeed in showing no emotions; I smiled. I liked her spirit, admired it even.

But I could see the Orc's face, which was pointing straight at her, in my general direction. His mouth twitched angrily before he spoke, "'How and if he bothered me,'" the Orc mimicked heatedly, "You want to know how? He rudely knocked me from my seat, and than didn't even have the courtesy to apologize," he finished indignantly.

She gave a tip of her head, which I automatically took for a nod. But then I heard a slightly suspicious cough, an unquestionably fake one, as if to hide a small chuckle. "Ah, I understand. So you initiated a fight with this man, because he damaged your pride by not begging forgiveness for an action that he may or may not even remember by dawn's light. Because he was drunk." Patience was written in the entirety of her voice and her body language. Except I detected the subtle hint of mockery layered under that stern patience.

I had to admit: I was impressed by the way she easily masked her strong emotions. But it appeared that the Orc was not as marveled as I, judging by the way he visibly puffed out his chest upon hearing that snide mockery.

The Orc held onto the counter with enough force that I thought I heard the sound of cracking wood vibrate in my ears. As it was, his knuckles had turned a ghostly white, the blood rushing quickly away. His free hand moved towards his waist, and all too suddenly his callused sickly green skin rested on the hilt of his solitary sword. The tension in his back muscles was brutal, and I couldn't help but clench my own hands. Tightly enough that I felt my fingernails to bite down deeply into my smooth flesh.

He was going to attack her, and there wasn't any way to stop it. Well, not without blowing my cover to Oblivion, anyway. But maybe I was overreacting, I mean if she wasn't afraid of his behaviour now -and that proof was right in front of me, sitting on a stool, back rigid, arms crossed, chin raised defiantly- than perhaps she had, as the popular term goes, more up her sleeve. And besides, anything was possible; if dragons could be reawakened and assassins could be respected _and_ feared, than this woman could be harmful.

But than an internal doubt settled in me. _Just because she's brave, does not mean that she's also skillful, only that she is too headstrong. _And indeed she was. Almost enough to rival the Orc's own fierce anger problems. You'd definitely have to be headstrong to utter those defying words and not feel fear immediately afterwards. And every instinct in my body told me that this woman felt no such fear, or even guilt for that matter.

But even if Anjassa did have a fierce bravery, it was easy to figure out who'd more likely be deathly trumped between her and the Orc. Even a babe would know that. He was large in height _and_ in build. Although it was true that the Orc and I did share the same gigantic height, he was about ten times bulkier than myself. And even I was much more muscular than Anjassa. There was hardly any flesh on her, only enough to be called 'healthy', but no actual defining muscles. She was slim in every way, and combined with her shortness, she was practically a midget compared to the Orc.

And unfortunately his intimidating didn't come alone from his sheer size, it was also partly the weaponry. Whereas he only had a normal steel sword, and a thick Iron shield, I could imagine many more death dealing items tucked away on his person. And, of course, the armour. Covering every part of his body -except his barely showing chin- which meant that it would undoubtedly be trouble trying to find an accessible fatal weakness.

Every cell in my body hoped that it didn't come to that, because if it did, it was obvious that Anjassa wouldn't stand a very high chance of winning. She may not have been drunk, like old Brenuin, but from a quick study of her, it was apparent that she didn't even carry a weapon. Not even a dagger, which could be a ferocious weapon in battle if used by a skilled warrior. And, well, Anjassa didn't exactly look like some warriors. Actually, like any type of warrior at all.

It was strange that she didn't wear one across her waist, strapped to a simple belt, because even the most dim residents of Skyrim carried some type of weapon. Whether it be a grand two-handed weapon, or the smallest of shivers, they all carried some form of protection. And yet, as far as I could see, there happened to be no measly blade at all. Of course, there could be hidden blades on her person. Just not in an area that was approved of by the general public. How would I know? Only she could know for sure, but was it really wise to travel the land, Skyrim or another Province, with a weapon stashed somewhere not easily accessible?

Why didn't this woman at least carry a small weapon? Or did she really have a trick up her sleeves? I couldn't tell, I had no answer on my tongue, but as the Orc tensed, his large hand still resting on the sword hilt indecisively, I felt apprehension cloud my emotions; I was about to find out.

With him tensing like that, his armour bulged, much like it had before he'd very nearly beat Brenuin. Except unlike with Brenuin, he didn't almost reflexively grasp hold of her garments. He didn't even lean towards her. He just looked at her, stared at her. Watching her every move, which was completely and utterly frozen. Because she watched him back, her muscles taut and tight much like his own.

Why wasn't he moving, acting? As I studied his stance, all the while trying to decide what to do when he inevitably attacked, I noticed that he was slightly tentatively hesitant. But why?

Could he really be reluctant to hit her, to fight her? From his earlier actions -trying to brawl with a weakened drunkard- I made a rash assumption that this man did not care who his foe was, so long as their breaking down could quell his blood-lust. And a seemingly defenseless woman would definitely sedate that. So than why hadn't he made his move? It hadn't taken this long with Brenuin, who had been in worst condition than Anjassa. _Why isn't he moving?_

As he still sat there on the edge of his seat, I knew that he was still indecisive, but who knew how long that would last. I had to make a decision about what my reaction would be like. Because I couldn't just let her be attacked, not by a warrior this lethal and monstrous, in fact, not by anyone. Because I had absolutely no idea if she knew how to defend herself, and I had to presume the worse. That she couldn't, which would be a good advantage for me at the end of this night, but until then... not so much.

She was _my_ contract. _My_ kill. I felt a strange kind of territorial feeling rise up inside me, pushing everything else back down haughtily and aggressively. I had the distinct feeling that this was exactly what wolves felt towards their own kills. Elk that had been hunted for leagues and leagues, only to be stolen away from the lone wolf by another ferocious wild animal. And the rage that came with knowing their meat was about to be stolen. I couldn't let Anjassa, my own kind of meat, be taken before I could claim her death myself.

I almost, nearly jumped up from my seat and tackled the Orc to the ground, but I mentally tied a large weight to myself, heavy enough to hold me down. I couldn't attack him before he attacked her, or else the crowd of _the Bannered Mare_ would prosecute me instead of him. It had to look as though I was the rescuer, or else the hasty plan I had barely drawn up in my head would shatter. If I could stop him from hurting her, than she'd naturally be pleased. And perhaps even trusting. Trusting enough to let me lead her away from the Inn, and to a shadowed corner. And why would she question my motives, the logic was that if I had wanted her dead than I'd have let him attack her.

Of course that logic did not matter in my own mind, it made no sense to an assassin, but it would surely make sense to this woman.

Right than, so my plan was as safe as it could be. Perhaps it was possible for it to become a little bit more full-proof, but I did only have a few seconds before he'd make his decision. So it was the best I could have made within those few moments. Hopefully.

But then the Orc did something I hadn't anticipated, something that immediately wreaked havoc on my hasty plan, slaughtering every single hazy detail. He sat up, and at the speed of a thunder strike, he was off his stool. His hand removed itself from his glistening steel sword hilt, much like the lightening strike escaping from a mage's hand. The Orc gave Anjassa a withering look, almost filled with bitter vehemence, than he murmured five words, "Your not worth it, fool." His voice coming out grisly and hoarse.

And before Anjassa could even register what he'd said, the Orc was turning tail angrily. Much like Brenuin, except when he thrust open the wooden door, and stepped out, the force of him slamming it in everyone's face, brought the door shaking on its hinges. I fully expected it to shatter into pieces, exactly the way my new devilish plan had, but it surprisingly didn't. For the second time that night, the whole of _the Bannered Mare_ stood stock still, the only sounds hushed breathing. And shocked murmurs.

Everyone stared at the door, which was still vibrating against its frame. Then I noticed a few people turn their gazes towards Anjassa, whose expression was one of wonderment and, what seemed to be, weariness. But she didn't seem to realise that a lot of pairs of eyes tried to connect with her's, either that or she didn't care. I think it consisted of both. Too shocked to see their eyes and too annoyed to even give a damn.

She turned her back on the people, picking up her tankard of milk and hastily slurping some down. Once again I could see the majority of her face, which surprisingly made up for the fact that I now was left without a plan. I was disorganized. I really did try to care, but as the murmurings of the crowd gently died down and everyone seemed to quickly forget about the Orc's temper tantrum, _the Bannered Mare_ quickly becoming boisterous once more, I realised that I didn't really care. Not an once of me seemed to.

I didn't know how to react to that realisation, so instead I pushed the thought from my mind, and chose to continue watching my victim.

Had she always looked so sullen?

Hadn't even see it before, of course I'd noticed that she looked weary and tired, but not sad. And I felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner, because I should have, it was my job to. I was an assassin, and so a hunter, and hunters were supposed to see every single detail about their prey. And I hadn't. But it wasn't just her sad expression, it was everything. I hadn't _really_ looked at her. Hadn't really _seen_ her.

Because I had been too excited by her presence to actually examine her closely. Too excited by that feeling of wonderful power running through my body. That feeling was still there, I could feel it pumping my heart with a vigorous beat. But by now it had dulled, just long enough to calm me down and to help that obvious realisation strike dumbly.

And because that feeling of power wasn't so prominent, I studied her for the first time. And I actually saw her.

The first thing I noticed, oddly, was her attire. She wore a simple dress, which was of a light brown colour. But I suspected had originated from a creamy white instead. The reason for my speculation was because whereas most of the cloth was brown, there was a few patches of white showing themselves underneath the darker material. I saw only one pocket stitched onto the fabric, and it looked considerably empty. Although there was a curious looking satchel hanging on her hip. A wide arrange of buckles and buttons concealing many miniature pockets. And by the way the shoulder strap was cutting into her shoulder, the satchel was heavy, obviously obtaining many items.

What could she possibly have stashed in there to make it bulge like that?

But then my attention was captured elsewhere as the glow of _the Bannered Mare_'s fire caught on fine metal around her neck. The necklace's chain was thin, and coloured a russet gold. Perhaps a tinge of bronze and gold melded together to create such a fine piece of jewelry. I leaned forward, my seat letting out a conspicuous groan of creaking wood, to get a better view of the fine chain. But then Anjassa moved her position, and the finely thin chain disappeared underneath her garments, once more.

She sloughed, her back bending slightly. That lead me to glance in that direction. And for the first time I noticed that her hair wasn't only a light golden shade, but how it was styled.

It hung down her back, and my eyes followed its length, softly cascading further and further down, until finally it ended. The tips of the longest strands abruptly finishing just above her backside. There was a few groupings of fair hair tied back in loose plaits.

From my time in Skyrim I had deduced that plaits were quite commonly seen on Nords for reasons I hadn't yet understood. Either because of their culture, or because they liked their hair tied back, and out of their faces. To me, both options seemed possible, and reasonable. And if it was the latter option, than well, it was the exact opposite with this Nord.

The plaits were messy, loose strands of hair sticking up, like she'd just been electrocuted. Her hair was unrestrained and free, and at first glance I thought I saw a strange-looking clip trying, unsuccessfully, to hold it all together. Then upon closer inspection I saw what I'd mistaken for a clip was actually a small twig of some sort. In fact, it seemed that her whole hair was full of forestry. Many leaves and stubby little flower buds. Daises, to be exact. The leaves had sharp, blunt edges, razor like. I had seen that type of leaf on plants in and around the Whiterun tundra.

Was that why she was so exhausted, because she'd been braving the Whiterun wilderness?

As that question repeated itself inside my mind, continuously spiraling and circling, I heard approaching footsteps drumming into the wooden floorboards. I extracted my gaze from Anjassa, annoyed at the interruption. And stared around the room, trying to pin-point who the footsteps belonged to. Finally I saw Hulda come into view, fighting her way through the crowds of merry people. Her voice drifted over as she asked a drunken villager to move, and in my peripheral vision I saw Anjassa jump slightly. Obviously she hadn't been straining her ears for complications, like I had.

Hulda bypassed the drunken villager, as he gurgled a profanity-filled reply, all the while rolling her eyes in exasperation. She slowly waked the remaining number of meters, carefully holding onto a wooden plate laden with what I assumed to be Anjassa's dinner.

Anjassa looked up when Hulda set the large plate in front of her. She smiled appreciatively, "Thank you, it looks wonderful."

Hulda chuckled, "Don't worry about it. It's exactly what you need after your apparently long day." She looked around then, as if noticing for the first time that Anjassa was on her own, "Where is he?" Her tone had just enough curiosity, but I distinctly heard a cheerfulness underneath.

Anjassa raised her long blond eyebrows, and gave a laugh. It surprised me; it was slightly breathless, but filled with a sort of happy hilariousness. And it didn't suite her formerly sullen and slightly depressed appearance. But then before I could dwell on the strange laugh, Anjassa's words distracted me, "Apparently he doesn't like being ridiculed because of his judgement towards other unfortunate beings. So he left in a storm, but not before calling me a fool, and exclaiming that I'm not worth his time or effort."

Hulda stared at her, amazement written plainly across her features, "You insulted him? Why exactly?" The cheerfulness was gone, her tone all serious.

Once again Anjassa raised her eyebrows, "Because I didn't like him insinuating that a drunk beggar didn't deserve his consideration." Anjassa's tone was equally as serious as Hulda's. "And also, I didn't care for his rude treatment of you," she said quietly, as if embarrassed for the last part.

Hulda's lips turned up at that, grinning, as the expression went, from ear to ear. "Well, that was risky, defending a man you don't even know. And me, which I am perfectly capable of defending by myself. But still, I thank you," she said warmly, then added seriously, "But don't be so stupid in future. I don't know where you come from, but the people of Skyrim won't stand for such insolent behaviour. Even if it does come from one of their kinsman."

I saw annoyance and defiance rise up inside her, and she replied hotly, "Perhaps you're right. But I had the right to put him in his place, such is freedom of speech. And besides, I doubt anyone else would've had the courage to, I couldn't just let him get away without his just desserts. Now could I?"

Hulda, once again, laughed. This time some of her amusement extended to brighten up her face. "True, true. But be careful, Skyrim is a lot different than the other Provinces." There was a lengthy pause then she looked down and saw Anjassa's plate of food untouched. "Go on, have a mouthful. I promise you it's not poisoned."

I nearly choked on the smoke and alcohol polluted air. Why hadn't I thought of that, it would've been so much more easier. But than again, I'd been too distracted by the Orc and Anjassa's argument to think of that. So really there was only one more solution to her death. Murdered in her sleep. Possibly the easiest, and most quietest way to dispose of someone.

Anjassa looked down at her food, and I saw a lustful hunger claim her calm expression. She picked up a butter knife, then cut into a large helping of venison, the knife slid through with ease, showing that it was tender. After she had cut off a nice quarter, she speared it through and brought it to her lips. Anjassa chewed it slowly, and I got the feeling that she was trying to saviour the taste. I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows when she moaned.

Hulda smiled contentedly in answer. "It's good isn't it?" Anjassa nodded, a new piece of venison in her mouth. "I'm glad you like it, now let's not worry about the Orc anymore. I doubt either of us will be seeing him for a while, if ever," she paused, and then asked in a curious tone, "So why exactly were you exhausted? What could you have been doing?"

Anjassa smiled with her mouth full, not actually showing her she swallowed. "I thought you'd ask that. Well, um, do you remember me telling you I was journeying to Rorikstead?"

I saw Hulda pause, obviously thinking back to whenever Anjassa was talking about. Then she nodded after a few moments, "Not until you mentioned it, but now yes. But why bother journeying to Rorikstead? It's a nice enough little hamlet, but I wouldn't go out of my way to travel there just for the sights; There's not even a wall."

"I did realise that before I left Whiterun, and I realised it even more when I actually got to the town. But sightseeing was not my original plan," she answered in a rather subdued voice. A small frown creasing her face, which upon closer inspection, I saw had streaks of dried dirt covering it.

As the dirt stained woman picked up a piece of baked and buttered bread, Hulda watched her take a mouthful of the bread, a satisfying crunch filling the air. A contemplative expression rose in her eyes, and she leaned back on the counter, obviously thinking over something interesting in her mind. As Anjassa swallowed her piece of bread, Hulda opened her mouth, "So what exactly was your original plan than?"

The short Nordic woman looked down at her plate of food, and her frown deepened, creasing her lips into an almost scowl. She sighed, a sigh filled with all of her weariness. "Well, it's incredibly hard to explain, so I won't bother trying-" she broke off, and looked back up, only to see Hulda's indignant face staring at her. Anjassa shook her head, and added hurriedly, "Do not think that I assume you cannot understand it, because I'm confident that you would. But I think it's best to not reveal all of my secrets, I must keep some..." She broke off once more, but now Hulda's scowl of anger was beginning to soften, slowly peeling off. So Anjassa commenced with her explanation, "But I will say that I was searching for something, and I didn't exactly find it."

"But if you just told me what it is, I could be of help. I'd be happy to search for it with you," Hulda said in a rather nonchalant way, but I detected a hint of enthusiastic curiosity. Hulda was not going to give up, I could see it. Her ears seemed to crave Anjassa's secret, obviously for the gossip. It was a known fact that Innkeepers spread and receive juicy gossip, one of the many reasons not to confide in them.

And from Anjassa's reluctant expression, and uncomfortable fiddling, I could also tell that she knew exactly what Hulda was doing. And she wasn't about to give her mystery away. I myself felt a slight curiosity at what exactly Anjassa had been searching for, but I kept it down in the depths of my stomach; She'd be dead in the next couple of hours, what was the point of knowing a dead woman's secret?

"Oh, I did find it. But, unfortunately, it wasn't what I thought it'd be. Rather lacking something important," Anjassa said carefully, with an inclination of her head.

It was obvious to both Hulda and I that Anjassa wasn't letting her guard down, and she finally seemed to understand and accept her defeat. After a small pause in the conversation, Anjassa gratefully accepted the silence, and took to shoveling her food down her throat. Well, not exactly shoveling, but she ate at such a speed that I suspected she'd get indigestion sooner rather than later... If indeed she did live to feel it.

Hulda continued to watch the hungry woman, then after a couple of slightly awkward minutes, she reached down and collected what looked to be a white cloth. She then continued to lift Anjassa's now drained tankard, and wiped underneath it. Anjassa watched her while chewing her almost completely eaten meal, the plate already three quarters bare. As the last couple of mouthfuls were chewed and swallowed, I marveled at her speed, and her amount of food she could fit inside her stomach. Wasn't she full yet? How could she not be? Even I wouldn't have been able to eat all of that, unless I had been starving. That thought lead me to wonder when her last meal had been.

"When was your last meal? You're almost inhaling your food," Hulda queried, a slight smirk playing across her features.

Anjassa dragged her knife across the plate, it making a blood-curdling screech enough to make Hulda wince. Because the plate was fully empty, Anjassa fiddled with the knife, making invisible signs on the plate's surface. "Well, around about midday I suppose." Hulda raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Anjassa smiled bashfully, "I know, ridiculous and foolish, but the plan was to eat at the _Frostfruit Inn_ in Rorikstead, but I changed my mind, wanting to get back before it was too late. As it was I left at dusk."

Hulda nodded, "And I suppose you got lost." She gestured to the state of Anjassa's appearance.

Anjassa picked a leaf out of her hair, and crunched it between her fingers, then let the remaining pieces fall away. They slowly drifted to the tavern's wooden floor, littering it. Anjassa let out a slightly embarrassed laugh, "I did try to get most of it off, but it's not easy seeing the back of your head... But I actually got back to Whiterun quite plainly, it was journeying _to_ Rorikstead that was troubling.

"It's not that I can't read a map or follow directions, because following a winding road isn't hard. What is hard is trying to avoid a bite-sized chunk of flesh taken out of you..." She paused, and gave a small chuckle upon seeing Hulda's raised eyebrows. Raised so far up her forehead that they almost disappeared beneath her hairline. It almost looked comical from my point of view. "You see, I had been carefully following the road for the last few hours, and then up ahead I saw a large fur covered shape mixed against the grey of the cobblestones. It, of course, happened to be a sabre cat, and I didn't dare try to disturb it. So I left the road, rather unwillingly, and decided to travel through the tundra instead. That decision turned out to be rather daft, because I went too far North, so I had to double back. And it took me at least about three hours to actually find the road. And then longer to get to Rorikstead. So, yeah, that resulted in this-" She gestured to her hair.

Halfway through her explanation, Hulda had started chuckling. But by now her originally quiet giggles had turned to loud hysterical laughter. Her shoulders shook, and she even went so far to thump the counter in amusement. Anjassa just watched her, her lips tightly pressed together. She sighed and nodded, accepting her own foolishness. And Hulda's reaction. Then after it seemed she could no longer hold onto her annoyance, she got up and cleared her throat. "Well, I'd best be off to bed. Goodnight."

To Hulda's credit, she immediately stopped, but not before wiping a tear from the corner of her left eye. "Wait, Anjassa, I'm terribly sorry, but I couldn't control myself," she said apologetically, her voice sincere. Then she added thoughtfully, "You should really have a wash before your sleep. It'll help you to relax. If so I'll send up Ysolda with a basin of hot water."

Anjassa hesitated where she was, standing in contemplation. She shook her head gently, "I couldn't ask that of you, it'll be too much trouble. Oh, and here," she held out a small coin purse, clearly only filled with a select few septims. "This is for the drink and food." She wiggled it in her hand, until Hulda took it carefully.

After placing the purse inside a front pocket, Hulda shook her head vigorously, "No, it'll be of no trouble. I insist. You deserve a good rest, and you'll get no finer rest than that of a nice steaming bath and then lying down to a feather soft bed. So go, and Ysolda will be up with that basin in the next few minutes." Hulda's tone changed from gentle assurance to that level of fierce authority she'd used on the earlier staring crowd.

Anjassa appeared to be taken aback, and she leaned away, a strange look of shock on her face. No doubt because she hadn't expected Hulda to take that tone with her. But then it disappeared and her calm facade was back. She hesitated, obviously trying to figure out if she'd win this escalating argument. I felt certain that she wouldn't, even if she was strongly hot-headed. And as Anjassa slowly, unwillingly nodded, I knew that she had come to the same conclusion as I.

"All right than, I gratefully thank you," Anjassa said politely, and rather formally.

Hulda's smile was big and bright as she replied in a tone of amusement, "Good. Now go. Oh, and goodnight." She gestured to the end of the room, where the thin wooden stairs began.

I watched as Anjassa's expression turned to one of appreciative happiness, and I wondered whether or not she was thinking of her warm bed waiting upstairs, or the warm water she'd be able to relax in. Probably both. She walked towards the wooden stairs, and as much as I tried, I couldn't bend my neck far enough to actually see her step up onto them. I sighed, as her brown coloured dress disappeared from my view, much like a puff of smoke would. _Damn these crowds, and damn my position. _

I settled back into my seat, letting the wood cling to my straight back. What was I to do now? But as Hulda called out to Ysolda, another Nordic woman with a slightly pointy nose, arching eyebrows and soft brown eyes. A woman who I knew was currently learning all there was to know about running a Inn and tavern, before she actually bought _the Bannered Mare._ And as I briefly registered the sounds of the two talking women, and then heard Ysolda's retreating footsteps, I knew exactly what I was going to do.

I was going to come up with a plan to kill my victim.

* * *

_**Author's Note: All right, so I realise that this was another long chapter, and you should once again know that this wasn't how it was supposed to end. But I've come up with a decision that I'll keep my chapters at least below ten thousand and one hundred words... (The Author's Note does not count...) So, ah, I've figured out that trying to write while stressed out and rushed does not work, and frankly just makes my writing do a tantrum, so I'm only going to write while I'm either happy or inspired. But that doesn't always come, and when it does not easily, so please don't get mad if my chapters are taking a long time. I have no idea how long it'll take with the next one, so just please just bare with me. I really appreciate all of the reviews and support, but don't hesitate to tell me if something's not up to standard. Because who knows, maybe being yelled at will help my inspiration to show itself! Anyway, when we next see each other and I hope you were satisfied with this slightly boring chapter... :)**_


	6. An Inevitable Choice, Part 1

_**Author's Note: So I like this chapter, a lot more than the last couple anyway. I really don't know if anyone else agrees with me, but if so (or not) than please, say so. Um, I have absolutely no idea why it didn't take as long as I said, but I guess I enjoyed writing it more than with the others... Which I did! :D Anyway, I hope it makes sense, and I hope that it satisfied everything you all expected. Again I'm not sure when the next chapter will be, but hopefully my muse will stick around like it has this past week. Anyway, when we see each other next! *Waves***_

_**Chapter Five**_

Coming up with a plan to kill someone wasn't hard, well, perhaps at first, but being in the Dark Brotherhood for five years made it easy. Simple, almost effortless. But not quite. No, it still took strength, perseverance and most importantly patience. Quite unfortunate that the principle rule was the one rule that I found to be extremely irritating, and infuriating.

Over the years my patience had increased, but not by nearly enough. I still had trouble with it. Even now, with Anjassa upstairs, waiting for her warm bath, I fiddled. With the front of my robes, unbuttoning and then buttoning the little brass clasps keeping the front of my robes from revealing my chest. Then I moved onto twiddling my thumbs, making them spiral around each other with impatient speed.

I could feel the energy inside of me, normally lying dormant for a period of time, carefully bidding its time until it could stick out its over-sized head, and control my actions. It was always inside of me, roosting inside of my chest, just waiting for the time to explode out of its shell. And the only time I ever let it show itself was when I was unrestrained, and when I had no rules, nothing to bide me, no greater power to hold me back. When even careful thought could not hold me from my true self. My true intent.

My power shone truly only in one situation, and that was when_ I_ was in power. When I held the power of my enemies, lest they be evil or innocent. When that power, that beast, was free, it did not matter who I killed, so long as my blade tasted blood, and my ears heard that last gulp of breath. The last breath my victims ever made on Nirn. I lusted after that power, after that feeling of freedom that came with it.

Over the years, I had tried to find other ways to feel it streaming through my veins, making my head pump in anticipation. But there was only one cure, and once I accepted that and gave up… it was the most beautiful feeling I had, and would, ever feel. It was the feeling of knowing you had found your true purpose, and that purpose gave you power over others. It was the feeling knowing you are trained in fierce battle, and that you could make your opponent feel the bittersweet taste of death. It was the feeling that you were prepared, and that your strengths could be used the other way. But they never were.

And you didn't want them to be. Why would you forsake that feeling of power to _not_ kill someone? What could be so important to make you throw your power away? Nothing. Nothing could make me forget this power and sacrifice it.

Of course instead of killing there was protecting, which isn't something an assassin finds happiness in. Well, not by protecting other people but themselves, and perhaps family. If indeed they even had any. Most of my brothers and sisters were either orphans or rejected, the lowest of low. But eventually they had come to the Brotherhood, in their own unique ways, and then they had been given a family. An extremely messed up and sadistic family, one that could possibly have the power to hold a dagger over your heart, one that could, quite literally, stab you in the back. But one that you'll end up trusting, no matter their psychotic behavior.

They did take some time getting used to, trust me I know. And even now I have my doubts about them, mainly if I'll wake up in the morning, but ultimately they'd be there right next to you. Guiding you, helping you in your time of need. Which, granted, you weren't expected to have, but if you did then they'd be there. Perhaps, with a certain few members, a little grudgingly, but still they do provide a shoulder to lean on. Someone to use as a crutch. And that's what family really is.

People would think that a group of assassins wouldn't care about each other, that it would only be strictly business. And, at first, I had tried that. But they surprisingly grew on you. And once that happened you couldn't shake them; they were the best trackers in Skyrim, possibly even on Nirn.

So yes, perhaps I would use my strength in battle to protect instead of to torture and kill, but only on someone that I cared greatly for. Only on someone that had shown to me that they deserved it. So no, on someone who I wasn't fond of, or who was basically just a stranger, I wouldn't try to use my power as a protection. And I wouldn't expect myself to. Because that wasn't what I was about, and I couldn't be like that. It would be hypercritical for me to save someone who could be another victim in the future.

As my mind went to these different places, trying completely unsuccessfully to hold back my horrible impatience, I looked around me. Of course avoiding the two people right next to me. It was amazing that they were still in that same position, locked together like two puzzle pieces, fitting each other perfectly. I hadn't bothered to check if they had come up for air, but I highly doubted they could have been locked in that unspeakable embrace for this long. And I grimaced as that feeling of uncomfortable embarrassment flooded my cheeks a rare crimson.

_Bloody love birds… _

Trying to preoccupy myself with any other type of mental picture, I glanced around the room. But there wasn't anything noteworthy. Nothing that made me forget about the two lovers half a foot away from my arm. I could even feel their body heat. _Curse them,_ I thought violently.

But I continued to watch the people around me, feeling all the more irritated as I did. How could there be absolutely nothing of importance? Did these people live so meaningless lives that drinking and laughing boisterously was a regular event? That midnight brawls were uninteresting to them? What did town's people do for fun these days?

Although everyone crammed into this fire bright room would probably ask the same of me. They'd definitely be repulsed by my answer. How do assassins have fun? Well, it really depended on the person. Seeing as everyone was different in their ways and beliefs. Nazir had fun like any good assassin; getting drunk and probably wooing a few senseless women. Babette would go out hunting, looking for a midnight snack, if you catch my meaning.

The other recruits, the ones that had joined us after we had made our home in the Dawnstar Sanctuary, would do anything that fit them. I couldn't contain the smile as I thought of the two "odd twins" as I had come to call them. Unspoken would, well do what he does best; following his sister's backside, going wherever she went. In fact, as I thought of it, I had never seen him actually get drunk. I'd never seen him even lift up a bottle of mead… Typical of Unspoken, always the sensible one.

Savryna on the other hand was much, much different. The exact opposite in fact. She was loud, obnoxious, brash and irrational. And she was shockingly even worse when drunk. My smile became a full-out grin as I imagined her here, right here. What she'd say, how she'd act towards the commoners. I knew for a fact that if she was drunk she'd undoubtedly be chatting up an unfortunate, gullible male. Then probably slit his throat in anger after she was finished with him. Such a charmer that one was…

A quiet sound of amusement filled my ears, and I almost jumped in my seat. Then my back became rigid and I sat there for a couple of seconds, waiting for something bad to happen. Then, when I wasn't hit with a large weapon or approached by anyone, I finally realised what the sound had been: me. I'd let out a shaky laugh, one filled with all of my annoyance at having to wait. And with amusement, thinking of Savryna woo and lure drunk men to their deaths.

I wiped the smile from my face after a while, not wanting to draw attention to myself. People would probably find it strange to see a man sitting in a corner alone (besides the lovers next to him) smiling like an idiot at nothing in particular. Either that or they'd think I was drunk, which wouldn't be that bad. But still, I was so, so close. I had to be careful with every single move, or else something could fall through and I'd lose my hunt. And my whole night, being in Whiterun and _the Bannered Mare, _would be for nothing. Now that would make me angry, much more so than having to wait.

With that thought I felt stupid. When I left the Dawnstar Sanctuary this morning, I had known that I'd have to wait. Be patient. Because that's just what you expect when you go out and travel to your target's known location; to be patient and wait. And here I was whining like a child… I could have hit myself. And I probably would've if I wasn't in a crowded room, currently trying to act like I was as happy as everyone else.

But I restrained myself, unclenching my hand instantly. _Get a grip! You're better than this, now act it! _I took a deep breath, trying to calm down the anger streaming through me because of my unfair whinging. Once the anger had subsided slightly, I continued to watch the occupants of _the Bannered Mare_.

There was a man, obviously drunk, I could just imagine how vile his breath would smell, slumped on a wooden chair. Banging on the table in front of him with a large tankard. By all of the mead spilt on the table's surface, I guessed that his tankard was empty not because he drained it, but rather because he was too intoxicated by obvious sources to hold the tankard properly. Although as he looked at the empty tankard and slammed it down in rage, it became apparent that he didn't realise that it was his own fault.

In my mind I laughed at his idiocy. I had never really had any sympathy towards drunkards, well, not the angry ones. Which were mainly the ones that seemed to be incapable of getting out of anyone's way. I welcomed drink, and I understood all too well why someone would drink to cloud away their emotions, but to do it in front of people and so become even more vulnerable than normal was just… horrendous.

But perhaps this man had it the right way. Lots of people drink to pass the time and it seemed to work well enough. I looked back at the wooden table next to me; completely empty. I sighed and frowned, my thoughts unfortunately going towards the taste of mead stewing inside my mouth. But no, it was definitely not the time for that; I could drink myself silly later, once all of this was done. Once I didn't have to _try_ to be patient, and once she lay dead.

I cleared my throat, as much to clear my mind as well as to stop the parched itchiness emanating from that area. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, mentally praying that something would relieve me from the continuous thought of mead. It wasn't helping that I could smell the honey wafting in the air and the sight of a Honningbrew Mead bottle resting on a table not too far away from my spot.

I shook my head; thinking and concentrating on such thoughts would not end well on my part. I could have a bottle, or even two, and I probably wouldn't be in any worse condition than I was now. But I couldn't allow myself to take that chance. I _had_ to be in the best of shape when on the hunt. Especially if things went bad. And I was certain that they wouldn't, but just in case, I needed to have all of my senses on the high alert.

Nodding my head, I opened my eyes, still trying to hope for something of interest to pop up. But I didn't truly believe that anything would, so when I did open my eyes and see something that made my mouth pull up into a foolish grin, I was surprised.

Ysolda walked along the walls near the kitchen, obviously coming from there. And in her arms was a small tin tub, perhaps the size of a child's bathtub. Definitely not large enough for a full-grown adult. Well, except maybe for a small adult, like say a certain Anjassa. While I wouldn't say she was of a normal child's height, but maybe of a rather tall one. I had been about her height when a 'child'.

My eyes stuck to the back of Ysolda's robes, and I was surprised that she couldn't feel them boring into her. At their intensity, how could you not? She completely ignored the people near her, sweeping in-between their unmoving bodies. I noticed a few droplets of water spill from the brim of the tub, dropping onto the ground. I had to imagine the sound of splashes, as the room was much too loud to actually hear the drop. It was lucky I had the eyes of a hawk, or else I wouldn't have noticed anything at all. There was steam rising up into the air from the heat of the tub's water, instantly dissipating once Ysolda walked through it. Amazing how it could disappear from this world, into nothingness.

How many times had I wished upon that? How many times had I imagined that happening to me? But perhaps it was a good thing that the Gods had never granted me that one wish. Because than I wouldn't be here, and my target wouldn't fulfill her destiny; everyone had to die, and unlucky to her, it was Anjassa's time tonight. I'd make sure of that. It was what I did.

In record time, considering she had to bypass a lot of merry villagers and even more slow drunkards, Ysolda made it to the bottom of the stairwell. Even without spilling much of the tub's contents. Which, because of the said obstacles, was an impressive feat. I suppose you had to have good balance when planning on working at, and eventually owning, a popular meeting place. Even more so when that popular meeting place was _the Bannered Mare, _the Inn that forever had seemingly undying crowds of people.

Ysolda carefully made her way up the sleek wooden stairs, each foot more hesitant than the last. And for good reason; she swayed the higher she climbed, the full tub of hot water weighing her arms down. And so partially her balance. As her foot landed on the solid floorboards of _the Bannered Mare_'s second landing, her dress was the only feature I could now see of her. Then it swept out of view, the scruffy blue material disappearing from sight.

I slumped in my seat, my back arching visibly, but I didn't care what I looked like. This was about to get interesting, all I had to do was wait. Just some more, then I'd be able to complete my task, the contract, and finally go home. To my warm, squishy bed. I rested my elbow on my knee, and sighed, a contented one. It was nice to distract myself from, not so much the task, but rather from the insufferable waiting. Another sigh escaped me, this time filled with that all but forgotten anger. _I really do sound like a miserable child… That's just perfect, well done._

I sat there, "positive" thoughts like that one streaming through my brain. Most of them, as the saying goes, went through one ear and out the other. But unfortunately one or two thoughts stuck there, the negative thoughts ringing with rather atrocious profanity. I almost let out a chuckle; rather astonishing how my own mind came up with such blasphemous words. Most of them I'd never say out loud, and regretfully, some of them I had let slip from my mouth. The thoughts that wouldn't leave me made me more annoyed than angry, but I still clenched my teeth in irritation. _Hurry up Ysolda!_

My head shot up when I saw a flash of blue material in my line of sight. Coming down those wooden stairs at a steady pace. Nothing currently weighing her down, so her speed not restricted like before. _It appears that you can issue orders with your thoughts… _a wickedly sarcastic voice echoed in my mind, but I ignored myself. That was preposterous, I would need them to be under my enchantment before I could even hope to do that. And I knew for a fact that Ysolda was definitely _not_ under my influence.

That same excitement bubbled up in me, and I grinned stupidly. Finally I could go and finish this, once and for all!

As Ysolda completed the small flight of steps, she moved back towards the kitchen, the way she had come. This time though, when she walked through that open archway, leading straight into the little kitchen, she wasn't carrying anything. That tin tub of hot water was gone, the steam along with it.

I leaned forward and rose from my chair, until a thought crashed into my mind, obliterating my joyous mood. _What are you doing? She's having a bath, which ultimately means that she'll be nude… You really wouldn't sink that low would you? Do you really want to be _that_ kind of a man? _My breath constricted and I remained in my awkward position, me half standing half crouching, for what seemed a long time. Then I lowered myself back down, heavily sighing out in exasperation.

Why did my pride have to get in the way? But no, it wasn't my pride that drove me to sit, it was my decency… Or at least what was left of it. Because as dark as I was, I had my limits. Even when the power, the beast, inside me motivated my movements. And this was definitely one of those few and rare rules: Suppressing privacy. Of anyone, no matter their gender or age. And I'm pretty sure that walking in on someone while their evening bath was an invasion of privacy. Of course walking into someone's room while them slumbering and planning to cut their throat is a version of invasion also, but at least they weren't naked.

I could take someone's life without a single hesitant thought, but I would never, ever resort to _that _level. Not just because I would really be a sick darkened man, but also I probably could never live with myself after doing that. Seeing that. Taking away someone's will like that.

I set my jaw in determination, I couldn't back down from my rule now. My mind was set and, as much as I hate to say it, I really would have to wait. How long, I couldn't be sure. But surely she wouldn't be more than a half an hour, if forty minutes. How long did it take for someone to have a bath? I knew the answer for myself, but not for her. Great, so more guess work. And now what was I going to do in the meantime? Continue to twiddle my thumbs, or perhaps succumb to the calling of the Honningbrew Mead?

But no, there was a more meaningful task at hand. Before I had just planned to slit her throat while she was asleep, but now that I had time, I could actually come up with a more detailed, direct plan. And perhaps a more enjoyable one – on my account, of course.

So how would I kill her then? How could I end her life? The brightest idea that appeared to me was the most obvious; kill her in her sleep. Which is what I planned, of course. But there was so, so many ways to go about that. I could choke her, but that would of course lead to some noise, and she'd undoubtedly awake from feeling pressure around her throat. I could snap her neck, the least painful way to die, in my own opinion. But that was so… boring. All I'd hear would be that inevitable snap, the sound of a major bone breaking, and that was it. No blood would be spilled, that last gulp of air would never come.

Then there were some more… horrific ways. I could stab her repeatedly in her abdomen, which would ultimately spill a lot of blood. After a couple of hours anyway… I could just imagine the scene that would greet whoever came up to check on her in the morning. Most likely Hulda, but she wasn't all that unfamiliar with seeing such a sight anyway. I, and other of my comrades, had left unspeakable bodies in and around _the Bannered Mare. _So it wouldn't really hurt her _that_ much. Perhaps haunt her dreams, turn them into sick and demented nightmares, but eventually they'd leave her unconscious mind.

Or I could just simply thrust my dagger into her heart, which would kill her instantly, quite a quick death. If I was lucky maybe she wouldn't even wake. But that got quite uneventful after a while, and you started craving for the more… interesting deaths. The ones that made you feel pride in finding a new technique of taking a life. But normally I only experimented on the ones that I really wanted dead, say if they did something I didn't like. Or if they were just plain ordinary. And, of course, it all depended on the mood I was in. But tonight I was weary, and experimenting on how I should kill her didn't seem all that enjoyable. All I wanted was for this night to be done, and make my way home. So perhaps the easiest choice was the right choice…

Slitting her throat. She'd obviously wake up, but I doubted she'd be able to fight me; the pain would be much too great for any struggle on her account. But there was times when even I had been surprised by the strength that men and women seemed to possess while their life was slipping further and further away. Anjassa may have been small for a Nord, even for an adult, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't be strong. And if her earlier actions were taken into account –her bravery towards a huge, hulking anger-filled Orc – then I couldn't over law anything towards this woman.

I leaned back in my chair, the cool wood seeming to chill my clothed back, trying to figure out my approach. Trying to figure a way out of my current predicament. As I tried leaning back even further, the chair making a soft _thud _upon touching the hard wall, I felt a hardened shape dig into the flesh on my spine. I froze then remembered what it was: My potion satchel, the one I always carried around with me. It had various different potions: health, stamina and twice as many magicka. I had to be prepared in my travels, and since coming to Skyrim it had made sense to keep many, many bottles of positive affects with me at all times. But upon learning and then refining my skill of poison brewing, I had taken the habits of keeping different kinds of poisons with me.

Some of them weren't very powerful, but then some were extremely powerful. And there were two such powerful vials nesting in my satchel. One was a light green vial, with liquid ever swirling around its confinements. The liquid itself had the ability to hold your victim still, paralyzing them. However the paralysis only acted for a certain number of seconds, so you had to be swift in your attack. Which was a skill I prided myself in.

The other potion vial was a deep dark red, the colour of dried blood. It was smaller than the paralysis vial, but it made up dramatically with its effects. Babette (the wonderfully talented alchemist that had crafted both) had said that this poison was deadly. What was deadly was that it attacked every single cell in your body. Every single sense you had was taken away from you. Your sight was blurred, your smell was completely taken, and your hearing was mutilated, making you hear things that weren't there. The only negative effects were that it took quite a long time. And it didn't actually kill you; it would wear down within a couple of hours. But it did allow you to make your victim vulnerable and defenseless. Giving you plenty of time to kill them.

Both poisons were powerful, that was for sure, but because I didn't really have the time to wait for the latter poison to make its magic -so to speak- work, I'd get much more use out of the paralysis. It was just common sense which one would help me in my current situation.

I didn't both trying to touch the vials inside of the satchel, what if someone saw me? So I just leaned forward again, and scraped my chair further away from the wall. Upon doing so, the potion vial dislodged itself from my back, and I relaxed my muscles.

Now there was only one thing left to do; wait. My plan was set, quite full-proof and secure so I wasn't surprised that I felt confident in its working. I settled back into a relaxed position and went back to watching the people around me. The drunkards, happy villagers and the annoyingly jovial bards all singing together, not caring that they sounded like a dying Mammoth.

The only thought in my mind was a slightly irritating question: How long do I have to wait?

* * *

I don't know how long I waited on that wooden chair, but eventually it started to get hot, my body heat making my clothing stick to my back. I wasn't full out sweating, but the warm ever-present fire wasn't exactly helping to make me cool. I yearned for the chance to feel the dark night's cool, drafty air whip across my face, and several times the yearning clouded my mind, making me go so far as to strain my muscles and get up off the chair. But every time that happened I ordered my body to sit back down, every time more aggressive than the last.

But it was understandable, because I didn't even know what time it was. There were no windows in _the Bannered Mare_, so I couldn't open, or even look through one. It was maddening not knowing what the time was, perhaps even more so than waiting for Anjassa to settle to sleep. I normally knew what the time was, always being intuitive like that, even before coming to Skyrim. But with no sky to glance up at, no shining stars and most importantly no moon to judge the positions of and automatically tell the time, I was restless. I needed to take action, but everything was prohibiting me from doing so.

Every minute that passed by felt like an hour to me, which distorted my sense of time even more. But surely it had been more than an hour, or even two, since I had taken ahold of my plan and set my mind. It had to be midnight, if not, at least, nearing it. Which meant that I only had strictly five hours until dawn approached, and a lot of nasty things could happen in five hours. Say for instance a short Nordic woman losing her life, and the assassin already half way back to his sanctuary.

But before that could happen, I actually needed to take the assertive and know for sure if that said short Nordic woman was already asleep. But she surely was by now. If indeed it had been more than an hour. Her bath couldn't really take that long, now could it? And anyway, I had had to wait for her to actually fall asleep, but again, surely she was already unconscious. Especially seeing as she'd been almost to the point of exhaustion when she'd followed those wooden steps up to her slightly grand bedroom.

I looked around me, making my gaze travel up from their current position: staring down at the smooth, slightly scuffed floorboards, zoning in and out, one moment seeing a small bug scuttle away and the next seeing nothing by blurred wood. It was probably apparent to everyone in the room that the sullen man in the corner, finally alone (the two lovers miraculously having broken free and left the Inn minutes and minutes ago), was bored. And tragically so.

As my gaze searched the area, I was surprisingly shocked by how much the crowds had dwindled by. There was still quite a few people, too much to be comfortable, but now those groupings of people weren't so thick. And I could actually discern the tired but happily cheerful faces of individuals, not just one or two like an hour or so ago.

That made me awkward; now it would be exceptionally harder to get to that small flight of steps and even harder still to get into her room. I had been counting on the rowdy crowd's noise level to sneak into her room without making any sound, but now that plan was tumbling closer and closer to the ground as different people walked out that front door, leaving the Inn for the remaining number of hours until daylight struck.

Of course there was still noise, but not as much as I would have liked, not as much as I needed. But such was the way of life, and we all had our rifts that lead us astray from our plans. Too bad that a major rift was plaguing my plan right now. Disrupting everything.

_It's now or never, and there _cannot_ be a never…_ The thought softly drifted into my mind and I cursed it; obviously it was right, but I had always hated being rushed. I'd take this at my pace, or I'd be damned. But then I let out a quiet chuckle when I thought about how I was reacting: Why was I getting frustrated at myself when this was what I wanted? I was finally going to get my wish, the waiting was over. Once that realisation struck me I smiled, and felt that familiar exuberance flow through me: The waiting was finally over.

Before I could be even more daft and happy and throw my hands up into the air, whiling cheering, I quickly got up off the chair, knowing that I wouldn't have to sit still any longer. I liked that thought and sped up, and because there wasn't much of a crowd anymore I made it to the opposite side of the room within a few seconds. There was a negative and a positive to the dwindling crowd: With the lack of people in the crowd, there wasn't very many that could spot me. But then it could go the complete opposite way and because so few, I'd be easily recognized.

I brutally wished for the former, but the anxiety of getting spotted by someone, anyone really, made me move into the shadows at a lightning fast speed. Once safely concealed in them, I internally sighed, and probably would've leaned on the wall to steel myself for the task of getting up the stairs undetected, but saw a familiar head of red hair coming towards me. Ysolda's familiar red hair, to be precise.

She held a candle in her hands, caressing it gently but firmly. She was so close I could see the wax dripping down the candle in rivulets, and every single cell in my body panicked. If she saw me then it's all over. She'd be suspicious as to why I was standing in the shadows, and then she'd question my motives. I couldn't allow that. _You can't come so close then have everything ripped away because of an annoying woman who can't keep her pointy nose out of everyone's damned business! Move. Now._

My thought process slowed until only that one thought resonated in my mind. It was right, I had to move, or else. And then, within a second of deciding that she wasn't going to stop coming closer and closer, I leapt to the bottom step. Then the middle. As my feet reached the top of the flight, I slunk back down, into a crouch. And flattened my whole body against the stable wall behind me.

I didn't so much as make a sound as the disruptive woman walked past the bottom step, the candle's light illuminating the thick shadows that had been my cover not five seconds before hand. I expected her to glance up at the flight of stairs, but she surprisingly, and fortunately, didn't.

Once the candle's flame was gone, and the previous shadows were once again thick and black, I very nearly sighed. But luckily I realised just how close I was to my victim's room, and I managed to keep it in; one tiny sound could destroy what Ysolda could have. I couldn't even take a mighty deep breath. Or let one out, in fear that it would alert her. And it could. The stakes were too high, I had to be as silent as the assassin I was.

I felt that anxiety cool down, settle deep within me, and slowly it was replaced with that excitement. I really didn't have to wait any longer, for my victim was only just through that flimsy wooden door. That flimsy wooden door that was sure to make a loud noise when opened. Especially in this silence. I cursed, and momentarily looked back down the flight of stairs, to the still dwindling crowd. Now that was exactly why I had wanted to use their almost non-existent thundering noise as a mask. But now all I could do was hope that she wouldn't wake up.

Normally I would've taken some time to prepare myself, but with Ysolda's close call, and the large feeling of yearning to get this over with, I quickly, so quickly that even I didn't realise what I was doing until it was too late, opened the door then squeezed myself through the small, minuscule gap. The door creaked as I shut it, snuffing all light out, and I winced, waiting for a frightened squeak of fear. Or any sound really. Anything to indicate that I'd awoken her.

But when nothing pierced the silence, I decided that I was being paranoid. After a few seconds of just standing there, bent over, shoulders slumped and back arched, I turned around, half expecting to see a sword pointed at my throat. But it seemed that something was giving me unnatural luck tonight, because there was no glistening blade, no gleaming arrowhead readying to fire into my flesh. There was absolutely nothing, except darkness. It wasn't very thick, mostly because of the open archway leading onto a small balcony, which gave the room a slight light. But it was still enough to conceal me, if only for the time being.

I looked around me, and saw that this was indeed a nicer room than the others in the Inn. It was the largest, and most decorated, with a few banners lined across the oaken walls. There was a few bedside tables, nothing lying on them except a few empty tankards and such. I saw that near the door, about two feet away from my location, the slightly small tin bathtub rested. It was still filled to the brim, but the water had long since been hot, and it had mellowed now, nothing breaking its calm water.

The only other thing of importance in the darkened room was the human being that I had been sent to kill, to end the life of. Her small body lay perfectly still on the wooden bed, the sheets beneath her small body. Thankfully she was fully clothed, that dirty dress still adorned her. It was still the rich colour of brown, and I suspected that she hadn't tried to wash, probably too tired to deal with it. Although even from here I could see that her body was not dirty, unlike her apparel.

Her arms and legs were ghostly white, illuminated even more because of the darkness, and no blotches of dirt patterned over her skin like hours before. Her limbs were completely clean, I could even smell her soap from here. The lavender scent wafted up my nose by a non-existent wind. And her hair was the same: Beautifully scrubbed clean, all of those brambles and leaves gone, forever forgotten. The only feature I couldn't make out was her face, which was turned to the side, hidden from view.

As I heard her quiet breathing, and I saw her chest heave up and down slowly, normally, I looked down at my own apparel and cringed, slightly ashamed that I didn't wear my normal outfit of death. Although wearing it underneath my dark blue robes was still wearing, right? Right. I hesitated for a second: Perhaps it was right that I dress out of my blue robes, and let my Dark Brotherhood uniform show. But I immediately scratched that idea from my mind, it would do no good to be spotted coming out of Whiterun in such armour, and it would be horrendous it she woke up to see a man stripping down in front of her.

As I extended my right foot towards the bed that my victim was lying on (I could no longer think of her as 'Anjassa' because her name did not matter to me no more, she'd be dead within a moment), I felt strange all of a sudden. My black and red armour seemed to be more obvious to me, and I felt like I was wearing a skin over my natural skin.

_Stop worrying about what you're wearing and get this over with: She could awake within moments, if not right this second… _I froze as that thought made its way around my brain, waiting for her to spring up like it had insinuated, but to my happiness, she did not. Not even letting out a breath of anticipation and appreciation, I softly crept up to the edge of her bed, until I was directly next to her.

The expectation of what I was about to do rolled around in me, and I felt that beast of power surge against its confinements, fighting to get out. Right in that moment I wanted nothing more than to let it free, and I did, giving up with being careful. It deserved to be let free at the moment, it was always let to roam on its own when I was about to finish my hunt. My contract. After all, it was the one that controlled me to kill in the first place.

It was not I who reached behind me, and carefully opened the potion satchel resting on my lower back. It was not I who delved into the large make-shift pocket and grabbed ahold of the bulky potion vial. The one that was a deep lime green, the paralysis one. The one that I was about to use on my victim. It was not I who slowly popped the lid, and gave a satisfied smile, that was as equally dark (if not a hundred times more) then the darkness all around me. It was not I who extended a pale white hand to the throat of my victim, and thrust her head towards me. It was not I who forcefully opened her mouth, making her lips spread reluctantly, and poured the green, glowing liquid down her throat.

Every action that was made by my body was controlled by the beast, the bloodthirsty beast that made me laugh at the sight of misfortune and suffering. The beast that _had _to see blood and death. The beast took over my thoughts, and I willingly gave it my body, sitting back and preparing to watch the watch. But as the beast poured the liquid down her throat, for the first time that night I saw her face, right up and close. So close only mere inches away from my own.

I noticed with shock that her Nordic features weren't exactly like I had imagined. With the other Nordic women I had seen in Skyrim, their features were much harder. Gruffer and fierce, like the land they had lead over for the last centuries on Nirn, and yet this woman, who was still clearly a Nord, was different. Her features were softer, not as lean and vicious as they probably should have been.

Her lips were a soft pink, but slightly cracked from her day of exertion, and heart shaped. Her nose was small and what you'd call a "button nose". Her cheeks were hearty and full, and it made her face look ever constantly happy. Except in that moment her cheeks weren't big, and her lips weren't pulled up. She wasn't smiling and that peaceful look of sleep was gone. Even though her eyes were closed I could tell that she was awake, and frightened. So incredibly frightened that I felt a deep sense of sympathy towards her. But then that beast pulled me away from my thoughts, once again taking control. I wasn't exactly happy about it, but I, once again, settled back down. Giving it back the reins without any trouble.

Before the paralysis poison could take effect, in that last second, my victim opened her eyes.

And my heart seemed to stop beating, it stopped pumping the blood through my veins, it stopped banging against my chest in excitement. But I didn't notice, because everything fell away, the floor beneath me, the darkness around me and the beast, for that one moment, let go.

Was this some sick joke, was this a nightmare produced by Vaermina, the Daedric Prince of Nightmares? Or had the Gods finally taken a stand against me, making me see something so impossible and frankly cruel, so that I wouldn't take yet another life? For who else could have that type of power to make me see what I was seeing? Only a God or a Daedric Prince.

But then, before I knew what I was doing, I lifted my dagger. When had I even reached for it? I couldn't remember. In fact, I couldn't remember anything, at all. Only one thing.

Those eyes, those beautiful, soul-strikingly beautiful hazel eyes. The golden brown shone bright in the darkness, except instead of green mixed in with the light golden brown, there was a deep, dark blue. The blue of the deepest depths of an ocean. The blue of a midnight's sky. And her eyes seemed to reflect that beautiful night sky, the golden brown specks shimmering just like pale golden stars. Her pupil the black moon staring at me in fright.

Her iris was a night's sky, and for a time, so short a time that it just wasn't fair, it had been my night sky. How many times had I watched those golden stars sparkle? How many times had I seen that black moon contract in the light of dawn? How many times had I watched those eyes watch me? And how many times had I dreamed about those eyes filled with the night's sky?

For years and years I had wished to forget about those eyes, about how they had dimmed. About how they had filled with tears of shock and horror. About how beautiful they had been. About how I would've given everything and anything, even my entire world, to see those eyes one last time. An hour ago, no, a minute ago I had thought that those eyes held no control over me. Because I had thought, and finally come to terms with, the fact that they were died. That their owner had been killed long ago, and I'd never see them again.

And yet here they were, staring up at me in fear, carved into a woman's skull that didn't own them. Because how could she? I had only seen one person have eyes like that, and she was dead. How in the name of Sithis, had this woman, my victim, come to own these beautiful eyes?

In that one second before my dagger struck her throat, I realised all of this and more. I realised that I was about to be the one that made these eyes pale, no matter who they belonged to. And then I realised that I couldn't be the one to do that, because I couldn't watch that happen, not again. It had very nearly driven me to the point of insanity all those years ago, it had turned me into the man I was today, a killer. And if I watched them pale and dim again, what would I turn into then?

In that single moment I realised that I would rather die than watch that happen to them. Because I just wouldn't be able live, not once I became the killer of those breathtakingly beautiful eyes. I would not let them dim.

In my mind I screamed out, and used all of my force to take back control of my body. The beast was pushed away, and shoved back into its confinements, all the while screaming back at me for taking away its kill. But I didn't care, because now I was back in control, and I needed to my choice.

I looked down at her, knowing that the paralysis would wear off within the next few seconds… I had to make my move and my decision. But what else could I do except once again raise my dagger. I hesitated for a split second, then struck.

Those beautiful eyes closed. Her breathing became hitched, and her body went limp.

What was I to do now?


	7. An Inevitable Choice, Part 2

**_Author's_**_** Note: Well, that took awhile, a long while indeed. Yeah, sorry about that, but I did say that I wouldn't write unless inspired or happy, and honestly I haven't been feeling either lately. Now I'm sorry that most people were surprised by the last chapter's ending, so I hope I answered any questions people had. If not, then you could ask in a review, or if you wanted to, you could send me a PM and ask that way. :) Yet again the size has... surprised me to say the least. But anyway, I should probably just shut up so, I will... right after saying this: I hope you like this chapter and if it sucks, then please, tell me. I, myself, do not know what to think...**_

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_**Chapter Six**_

There was silence all around me, blessed silence. It allowed me to think, to actually think, and comprehend what I had gotten myself into. What I had done. And where I was right now. And why my whole body was shaking from no apparent cause. Except for one, one that I hated. One that made me feel weak and pathetic. One that had not happened in a very long time.

I cried. My whole frame rocked with each gulp of air, because I couldn't get enough in. I felt claustrophobic in that moment, like there were walls that were inching closer and closer to my skin, craving to feel my worthless body twist and crunch under their enormous weight. The ground beneath me felt hollow, and wispy, like I was just standing on thin clouds, clouds that would disappear if I moved a millimeter. My breath came out horridly weak, and I was fairly certain that my chest was about to cave into me, crushing my small, stone cold heart.

And by Sithis, how that heart wept. It felt like it was about to jump out of my chest, one moment beating with a ferocity that I had not known for a very long time, making me realise just how hollow I really was. Then the next moment drumming against me weakly, every heartbeat more frail than the last. More than a couple of times I thought that it had stopped altogether. But fortunately it was just my imagination, and I could hear the rhythm once again. Or perhaps it was unfortunate that it kept beating, however feebly, because everything in my body, and soul, wanted it to just stop. Cease for eternity. It would be easier that way, so much easier.

I prayed and prayed that I would be struck down, that the Gods would finally stop my reign of suffering and misfortune that I leeched onto everyone who came into contact with me. But they would not listen, they would not answer. Why not? Why wouldn't they want me dead? I was terrible, dark, sadistic and deadly. The list could go on and on, I could spend the rest of my days describing what I was. And none, not one, of the descriptions would be positive or humble. And yet the Gods didn't do anything, at all.

And so a cloud of despair rained down on me, shadowing me, confining me. But perhaps that is what they wanted: for me to suffer before they put me down. And I deserved it, everything that was given to me I deserved. That fact wouldn't leave my mind, no matter how hard I concentrated on removing it. I was thoroughly convinced that those words would be written forever on my soul. Nothing ever being able to remove the bleak script.

I struggled for breath as another inescapable gasp racked my shallow body. All the while tears rolling down my dirty cheeks. They slid down below my eyes, then leaked into the mask covering my grief wracked features. Making it wet and sticky, the fragrance of salt mixing with that of blood. Altogether it made me nauseous, and I gulped. Accidentally inhaling the thick and rancid smell once more.

And I would've cried for minutes, definitely hours more, but in-between gulps of breath I heard a small scuffling noise, directly behind me. With more energy and mobility than I had thought I had possessed, I flipped my body around, my dagger already drawn from its sheath. I raised it in front of me, all the while still trying to control the tears that slipped and fell behind my mask. I forcefully stopped my hand from shaking, clenching the dagger tightly.

I don't know what I had been waiting to see exactly, perhaps some type of bandit, or a vicious wild animal, it wouldn't have been hard to hide in this darkness, but instead I saw the one thing that had created my tears of sorrow and grief.

Her: Anjassa. My victim, the woman that I was supposed to kill in order to complete my contract. Except instead of seeing a limp, lifeless body with her own blood pooling around her, I saw a dirt splatted woman, her life force still shining brightly enough. Her hair tangled by leaves and twigs. Dirt stained every part of her body, including her once luscious strands. Thankfully her eyes were closed, and I lowered my dagger slowly when I realised that there was no enemy, no risk of me being seen like this. Her feet were pulled up close to her chest, but one was slightly lower than the other, and I guessed that it had slid down from its normal position, grinded on the stone floor. And made that strange scrapping noise that had alerted me.

I watched her for what seemed like an eternity, watching her chest rise and fall too slowly. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her face, willing her to open those eyes. But she didn't. I wanted to see them shine in the darkness, but at the same time I didn't. The logical part of my brain told me to never look into those eyes ever again, lest I get caught up in them, and then I'd never have enough strength to look away. But the unreasonable part yearned for them, because he wanted more than anything else in the world to get caught up in them. That part of my brain was the part that couldn't let anything go, not if he loved it enough.

And he loved those eyes almost too much to be healthy. He could stare into them for the rest of his life, even for an eternity and not complain. Not once look away. He didn't care for the consequences of what would happen once he saw them. Because he was reckless and stupid and he loved those eyes, the night sky reflected in them, and every little speck of bronze. Every little emotion playing across the sky like an Aurora of light.

The terrible thing about him was that he was a part of me, and so now I felt like I was fighting a horrible war inside of me. And I was, I had been for more than a few hours. How many? If I had to guess I'd estimate about four. Which meant that dawn was steadily approaching and she still wasn't dead. I was expected back at my sanctuary within the day, and yet I wasn't even ready to travel back. I didn't want to; what would they say? How would they react? Would I have to pay the fine in blood or money? Or both?

_But there's still time, you could still end it… Right now, while she's asleep. It'll be painless; she simply won't wake up, ever again. _As soon as the thought processed itself, I spun around, not being able to look at her while such villainous and monstrous thoughts formed in my brain. Straight away guilt clouded my emotions, even succeeding in pushing the grief back down into its dank, dark hole where it belonged. I would welcome the guilt any day if it allowed me to be free of my sorrowful, soul crushing grief.

As another tear found its way out of its prison, I swiftly wiped it away. Making sure to stop the choking sound that had been about to explode out of my chest. Instead I let out a sigh, one filled with every emotion I still had left in my body. Most of them I had thought were gone, and yet here they were, all because of one woman who had eyes that I missed so, so much. Eyes that didn't belong to her. Eyes that didn't belong to any mortal but one, one that was long gone. Gone forever from this world.

I closed my eyes, but as soon as the darkness enveloped me, I saw them. Those eyes. The wonderfully long eyelashes damp and wet by everlasting tears, that look of horror and fright forever stamped across her irises. Because they were glazed over by the terrible thing no one can escape: death. He had paled those eyes, made them as white as snow, as lifeless as a statue.

This time I could not stop the gasp that emanated from out of my throat. As soon as it touched the still, cold air, I flicked my eyes open. Not being able to stare at that sight. I had stared at that sight for far too long before. And I could still feel those emotions form in my brain, the same ones when I'd first watched those eyes cloud over by the death's touch. Anger, horror, sorrow, grief and lastly guilt.

So I could _not _close my eyes, or else I'd see those eyes calm and be taken by death's embrace, and I could _not _watch that happen yet again. I had watched it happen for the last quarter century; every time I had closed them it had appeared to me. The vision of her dying again and again and again. Only just over a couple of hours ago I had thought that I'd never have to see that again, because eventually that sight had left me. I had worked for years so that I'd forget, and now because of one person, one woman, it suddenly had come back.

That memory had been dug up from its confinements, its hole of solitude, and now there was nothing, at all, that I could do to make it disappear. Somewhere deep inside me something told me that the sight of her dying was not going to just fade away like last time. It was going to stay with me, and no matter how much I moaned and groaned about it, it would never leave.

_Unless… _I looked back behind me, once again staring at the short, weak woman's face. As soon as my eyes locked onto her small, fragile frame, I felt a deep feeling stir within me. A deep pain. Cross between apprehension and something else… Something that had no name. In that moment I was sure that I didn't want to know its name, or why it was making me feel like a blade was trying to pierce my thick, sturdy armour. Surely that blade would pierce my heart, and hopefully soon. For I could not stand to see her any longer. Everything I had been telling myself these past hours was slowing drifting away.

Thoughts of darkness and vile intention were starting to lick at my inner sanctum that I called my mind, and every second it seemed harder to push them away. Thoughts of murder and betrayal. Thoughts of foul dealings and ways to end my suffering. But really was there a way to end it? Because it seemed that whatever path I took, whichever approach I made, it would end in me being wounded. The question was: Which would hurt me the most, and so leave me unable to heal.

I was an excellent healer; any wound would slowly heal itself. Whether it is just a broken bone, or something far more fatal, but some places are harder to heal than others… Like the heart, and soul. And it was apparent to me that both places were about to be wounded, perhaps not fatally, but terribly. Then there was the mind, and I just knew, on some deeper level, that my mind couldn't take anymore wounds. It was too scarred as it was. Anymore and I'd surely lose it…

I grimaced and shook my head; thinking such thoughts would surely make me lose it. And sanity was not something I was prepared to let slip between my fingertips, I'd fight for it. For as long as it took.

Which path would lead to my destruction? There was only two approaches that were acceptable, and accessible. First approach: Kill her. Second approach: Let her live… and leave my contract unfulfilled. Both decisions were maddening, because half of me wanted to decide upon the first one, and the other half, the second one. The part that wanted to finish it and get it over with wanted nothing more than to be able to take his blade, and slice her pale skin. To feel her feeble life force drain away, leaving Nirn behind forever. To see her blood be spilt and to smell it while it soaked around her corpse, staining the smooth stones beneath her body. That was the part of me that had imagined killing her for the last few hours. By many means.

Using fire; to hear her soft flesh burn and crackle under a flame as powerful as the sun itself. To smell the scent of burned flesh, of burnt hair. And to watch her scream and cry, thrash around and try to survive, all the while knowing that she'd never be able to run, or hide. To observe that expression upon her face, the expression that came with all of my victims, when their time was up. The expression of knowing. Knowing that they were dying, and that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could save them from death.

But it wasn't just fire that I imagined killing her with, it was many other things. Some so unspeakable that even I was disturbed when they crossed through my thoughts. Others that I had done countless times before, ones that were easy and simple. And ones that were harder and much more painful. For her and I.

But that was only one part of my brain, my body, that wanted to listen to such mutated thoughts, the other part was struck sick by how those thoughts were beginning to corrupt me. That half of me also injected thoughts into my brain, but not vile and repulsive ones. No, these thoughts were filled with compassion and sympathy. Mercy and sorrow. That part of me was the part that wept for my beloved, the part that made my shoulders ache from hunching them in defeat. That was the part of me that still remembered the man I had once been, and the woman that I had once loved so dearly. It was too bad that he also remembered the moment that he let go of everything, when he let go of his emotions of love and loss. When he succumbed to the other half of him, the darker more deviously cunning part of him. The part that was named Strider.

And the dark part of 'Strider' didn't want to let go of his kill, he was like a vicious wild animal, one that had clamped his jaws around his meat, and no matter how hard someone yanked and pulled, that meat would not be given up. The animal would stay vigilant, and in time, once the oppressor had left it alone and accepted defeat, that meat would be eaten and digested. There was no persuading or bargaining with the animal, if it did not want to let it go, then it wouldn't.

And just like with a wild animal, I was driven by instinct. My instinct to kill. I had been doing it for so long that it had become a part of me, a part that wasn't about to give up. Except, unlike a beast of the wilds, that part could be reasoned with. It could be persuaded to give up the kill, if the rewards were large enough… or if it knew deep down that it was the right thing to do.

Right then and there, I could say that it was the right thing to do, the right decision, to _not_ kill her. I could say that I was one hundred percent sure that everything in my body wanted her alive, but that would be a lie. One that I was unwilling to utter. Because I _didn't _know for certain if it was the right decision, and I needed to. With either way. At the moment, neither decision seemed fit.

It should have been easy to choose. How hard is it to make such a simple choice? But too many times in the past I had simply killed without actually thinking it through, without weighing the good and the bad. And the one thing I did know in that moment, the _only_ thing I knew, was that I couldn't rush through this. It couldn't become yet another rash decision on my behalf.

What I needed was time, the problem was that there wasn't any time left. Soon the sun would come up, presumably within the next hour or two, and then it would be steadily approaching over. Because I had no idea, whatsoever, when her empty bed would be found. It could be in the late morning, if not afternoon, but then it could be once breakfast was stewing, which was usually just a few hours after light dawned. And once her bed was found empty, they'd be suspicious. It'd wouldn't take them long to realise that she'd been taken, and that's when they'd start searching.

I was not a seer, I could not know for certain how long it would take them to find us. If indeed they ever did. But I wasn't about to hang around and find out. The plan was to be gone by the time they started their search. But that plan wasn't in effect just yet, first I needed to figure out what I should do with her. So everything was pretty much riding on my decision, the decision to kill her or to spare her.

But I knew that there was no part of me ready to decide, I needed to think…

I turned away from her, somehow looking at her wasn't helping, just making me feel even more depressed. With my back to her unconscious body, I felt freer than I had in hours. As free as I had felt when ignorant of her true eye colour. _If only I had never found out. I wouldn't have if she had just kept her eyes closed, then I'd be none the wiser. _I lifted a hand up to my head at that thought, trying, unsuccessfully, to disagree with it, but the truth was that the thought was right. Entirely. But if I had never seen her eyes, then I would never have stopped, and did I truly wish for that?

The answer to that question was unknown, even to me.

As my hand lowered onto the top of my head, I remembered what clothes I wore. And the shrouded cowl that covered my hair. I sighed, letting out all of my exasperation that was bubbling inside me. Not because I couldn't trace my hand through my hair, like I desperately wanted to, but because of my current predicament.

Although I was extremely glad that I didn't have to wear those stupid robes any longer; they had been uncomfortable. Well, perhaps when all I'd had to do was walk around the city of Whiterun, and sit on a wooden seat, they'd been comfortable enough. But once I had gotten out of the city, and into the wilds, all the while carrying an unconscious woman in my arms, they had started to become itchy. For those intolerable amount of minutes I had felt like a common hound. Like I had been riddled by none other than fleas. It had been a happy relief to be able to finally rip those scratchy robes off… an even better relief to watch them burn, to see the smoke rise slowly into the air.

As I remembered that memory of just a few hours beforehand, I felt as if my mouth twitched. Like my muscles were trying to work, to pull my face up into a grin. But all my muscles seemed to achieve was a strange grimace, and I quickly gave up. Smiling was overrated anyway.

Thinking of those hours in the Whiterun wilderness lead me to think of the hour before, the minutes just after I had stopped myself from destroying Anjassa's existence. I couldn't muster a smile, or even a twitch for that matter, at that thought. I hadn't exactly been happy, in fact I hadn't been anything. I hadn't felt sorrow, or grief, or anything at all. It had felt like there had been nothing inside me, no emotion of any type. Just a hollow numbness. I wanted that numbness back; it was better than feeling this grief, this guilt.

You'd think that getting out of an Inn filled with a crowd -as dwindling as that crowd was, it was still technically a 'crowd'- of slightly tired, but still annoyingly merry people, undetected, while carrying a limp woman would be hard. But surprisingly, and fortunately, it hadn't. All I'd had to do was cast an invisibility spell over the both of us, and control a villager –his mind had been easy to manipulate- to open the back door of the tavern for me. Those actions had been child's play… carrying Anjassa on the other hand had not. It hadn't been difficult because she was heavy or anything, to tell the truth I'd held weaponry heavier than her, but because everywhere her skin had connected with mine, it had felt like tiny little fires were imprinting themselves under my skin. It had literally felt like I had been on fire… and the terrible thing wasn't because it had been painful, but because it had felt good.

That fact had frightened me more than I'll ever admit out loud, because it shouldn't have felt so… I had no words for how it had felt. There was absolutely no way for someone to understand unless they felt it themselves. The way it had felt is indescribable. All I can say is that it shouldn't have felt like that. Not that I'd ever truly understand what 'that' is exactly.

The real trouble started after I got out of Whiterun, after I was alone with her. After the invisibility spell had worn off. That's when thoughts had come, those thoughts that were telling me to kill her and dump her body down a waterfall, or leave her alone in the wilderness, and let wild, starving animals feast on her tender flesh. I had very nearly listened to those wicked thoughts too, but every time when I had raised my dagger and prepared to strike, something inside of my heart had whispered to me. Told me to stop, to let her live.

This poor woman would never know how many times she was saved by an unknown voice of mercy.

I let out an even bigger sigh than the last… Being so depressed, this would normally have been the time to put my hands through my hair, to mess it up in my annoyance of indecision, but because of the shrouded cowl, I couldn't. So I just let my hand fall, my long arms hanging awkwardly at my sides. How am I to decide what to do? I thought, raising my gaze above me, as though subconsciously wishing that the Gods would help. Or at least to give me an inconspicuous sign of the right path to take, but, unsurprisingly, they didn't.

All my gaze met with was blackness. Total darkness. I couldn't even see the ceiling, and it looked suspiciously like there was none. The first time I had been in here I had wondered how high this cavern really was, and even though it was a few years later, I still wondered the same exact thing. I doubted that I'd ever truly find out.

I lowered my gaze from the none-existent ceiling, and instead looked towards me. Trying to find some source of light, whether it be dwindling moonlight, or perhaps light from some individual Glowing Mushrooms. But there was no light, save from the hovering ball of Candlelight floating right above my head, which even tried to pierce the thick darkness. The complete lack of sunshine in the cavern had never really unnerved me. I was an assassin, I had to be used to darkness because I was something that came with it, but for some reason, I felt extremely jumpy. Like I was expecting something to take me by surprise once I let my guard down. I had felt like that ever since I'd walked upon the ground's threshold.

Instead of trying to search the walls for signs of life, I looked down at the ground. I couldn't see more than a foot in front of my position, but I'd been in here more than enough times to know that no type of plant grew. There was no Blisterwort, or Bleeding Crown, not even any Namira's Rot. It was common sense that made it obvious as to why no plant could thrive in a place like this. Even plants that were found only in damp and dank caverns such as this one, weren't able to grow. Perhaps because of the apparent lack of their essentials such as water and sunlight, but something told me that it wasn't just that. Something, possibly an unknown sense, told me that this place wasn't right, that it wasn't normal. And nothing in my body disagreed with that sense, because there seemed to be a subtle feel about this place. In fact, it reminded me of my home, of my sanctuary. Which shouldn't have been surprising, seeing as I'd been introduced to the cave by my sister in blood.

I fought to stop the mental picture that appeared in my brain as I thought of that sister of mine… That dead sister of mine. Nothing good would come of thinking even her name, or else I'd see her last moment. And I shuddered at the thought of that last moment… That smell, the smell of burnt human flesh. And more horridly, that sight. The sight of charred flesh, smoke still rising off her mangled body. I had seen some disturbing things in my time, but that sight of my Leader slowly dying, struggling to take her last few breathes, had to definitely top that particular list.

I shook my head to dislodge that horrific sight, and instead tried to focus on my current predicament. What to do? But that wasn't much of a better thought, either. But at least this decision is in the present, your Leader's death happened a select number of years ago, in other words: The past.

I literally scoffed at that thought; my decision may be of the current present, by the reason I even had to make it was not. If I wasn't still stuck in my past then I wouldn't even have to make such a decision. I would never have stopped, never have even considered keeping her alive… And then I would be a monster… Better to be a monster, than to be stuck in your past.

I raised both my hands to my face, and stared down at them, secretly yearning for them to reveal the answer to all my problems, but, of course, they didn't. I was going to have to figure this out on my own. As I continued to stare at my hands, the red and black armoured gloves hiding my pale skin, a thought struck my mind, a thought that could possibly solve my unfair riddle: Perhaps, you don't have to be the one to do it. Perhaps you could slip her that poison and ride back to Dawnstar, without her. You'd make it back before she awoke, surely. Back with someone else…

As ambiguous as that thought may have been, I knew exactly what it meant, knew exactly where it was going. And as much as I wanted to push the thought away, to erase it from my brain, something about it appealed to me. If I was to find one of my siblings… they could be the ones to do 'the deed' instead. Technically I wouldn't be the killer of those eyes, and I could be let off the hook.

The tiny flame of hope started to rekindle itself inside me, and I nodded. Setting my jaw determinedly. While my brain started to make another plan of how I was to get to my sanctuary and enlist my brothers and sisters' help, I unconsciously looked behind me, and instead of being met by total darkness, my gaze went to her limp form straight away. I should have looked away right then and there, but suddenly it seemed all of my will power had dissipated once making contact. And before I could stop them, my thoughts clouded of her.

Of her sitting on that wooden stool in the Bannered Mare and obviously enjoying her meal. That peculiar expression on her face when she tried to guess what hidden ingredients had been added. And when she had raised her head up high to that giant Orc, expressing to him what her opinion was of his blatant disregard of other people. And lastly, the look of fear in those eyes that didn't belong to her… But as I watched all of those images, and more, flash through my head, I didn't care about that. I didn't care that she really wasn't my long lost love. I didn't care about the feelings of anger and madness that had driven me to raise my dagger to her neck multiple times that night. All I cared about were the thoughts and feelings that had suddenly appeared inside me, making me see that she didn't deserve to die. That I couldn't handle her death.

And, right then and there, I knew for a fact that I couldn't. There was absolutely nothing inside me that speculated if I could get through it. In that moment every part of me, even the part that thirsted for her death, knew what I had to do. And why I was going to do it.

After hours of second guessing myself, my decision had been made. I looked down at her and, without realising what in the name of the Divines I was doing, bent over her small frail body. I watched her for a few seconds in shock, thoughts of wonderment flashing through every part of me, and then before I could stop myself, my gloved hand moved on its own accord and I lightly trailed my fingertips across her dirty cheekbone. It wasn't warm like it should have been, but chilled. As if an Ice Wraith had caressed her cheek.

My fingertips smudged the dirt rubbed into her tender skin, and I felt a curious sort of guilt for the amount of grime and grease covering her body. Her state of dirtiness was really my fault; I hadn't been in a fit state to walk through brush and sidestep low tree branches, let alone carry an almost lifeless woman in my arms. No matter her size or weight. In my earlier state of numb grief, I probably wouldn't have been able to carry a knapsack. And because I had been sluggish and slow through my emotions of shock and despair, I hadn't realised when I'd walked through an outcrop of low branches or accidentally tripped down a small hole… Even a couple of times I'd, unintentionally, let her small body slip through my arms. If I looked close enough, I'd probably be able to spot a few bruises blossoming under her flesh.

I knew, as much as I knew what my decision was, that I had no right to touch her. Even on such an innocent part of her body, but something inside of me had deluded me into thinking that there was an excuse… But I had none. And yet I still traced her cheekbone, as if trying to warm it with my equally cold body temperature. I stared at that spot on her face, trying so very hard not to look towards her eyes. A single sentence occupied my thoughts: I'm not going to kill you, Anjassa.

And it was true. I wasn't going to, and neither was anyone else. Not just because she didn't deserve to die –only a select number of my victims had deserved to- but because I really couldn't allow myself to go through the pain of, not only killing her, but watching it happen too. And knowing that she was dead would especially bring me the pain that I couldn't take.

My fingers froze as I felt her breathing hitch, and my own breathing stopped for a second. As my ears strained to hear her normally hushed inhales and exhales, I slipped my other hand on her neck, feeling for her pulse. Horror spread through me every second that passed, and I was surprised to find myself dreading her heartbeat never working again. It would fix everything if she were to die suddenly, without anyone actually pushing her towards death. But before I could either agree with that thought or ridicule it in anger, I felt her pulse vibe under my hand. It was almost erratic, but at least it was actually there.

For the first time in what felt like a whole century, when really it was only four hours, my lips curled up into a small smile. In my sudden cheerful mood rise, I almost laughed… Almost. The laughter made its way up my throat but seemed to get stuck there as I realised that in my haste to feel for her pulse, I hadn't felt the firm hot sensations licking my hands, my skin. That same warm sensation that had touched me earlier that night, except the difference was that it was effecting me even with my hands covered. No part of my skin could be seen through my gloves, and yet I still felt as if my skin had touched hers.

I quickly removed my hands from her skin, and, quick as a flash, straightened my back. I stood there looking down at her for a few moments, trying to figure out what those sensations had been, and why I could have them even without skin contact. But when my mind come up with nothing, I gave up. Perhaps it was better me not knowing, probably a lot easier that way.

But this wasn't over, though. Just because I had decided upon sparing her life didn't mean that it wasn't still in danger, because it was. Terrible, mortal danger. My siblings weren't going to just relinquish her, no matter what I said or did. She was a contract, one that had to be fulfilled, on the honour of our Brotherhood, and more importantly, for the Night Mother's. We had a reputation to uphold, and no Dark Brotherhood Assassin wanted that reputation to be shattered. Our reputation made the people fear us. And that fear kept them from hunting us.

My siblings and the Night Mother wouldn't understand why she couldn't die. They didn't know about my past, and so the loss of my love. I had always kept that part of me locked away, even from the people that I called my 'family'. It was a part that no one was allowed to see, even me. So how was I supposed to explain to them that she was still alive? Would they ever forgive me?

Or perhaps I didn't have to explain about my wanting her alive… Perhaps they didn't need to ever find out about my night of pathetic grief over monstrous memories. I could lie, say that she was dead… It was appealing, but would I be able to pull it off? Making up my mind as of what to do had made my head feel a lot clearer, and the tears had stopped completely now. I could actually breathe without worrying about it getting caught in my throat, and I felt strangely… lighter. As if knowing that her blood wouldn't be spilled by my hand had lifted a weight off my shoulders.

Now that I dwelled upon it, I felt a lot better than I had previously realised. But that didn't mean that I didn't still feel the bitterness of my memories licking my thoughts, trying so, so hard to drag me down. And they would eventually, most likely in my dreams, when my mind was left unprotected from anything and everything… But I couldn't think of that now. I needed to think about the current present, and I needed to come up with a plan to save Anjassa from death, from my family. And something deep in the recesses of my mind whispered a truth that I didn't want to accept, but a truth that I had to.

I couldn't tell them that she was dead, because no matter how much I played on the lie, even if my brothers and sisters believed me, the Night Mother wouldn't. There was a deep magic that linked her to her children, and she know that I hadn't completed my contract. Right in that moment I prayed to the Divines, not Sithis, that she wouldn't know the reason, just that Anjassa wasn't dead. If she did find out the reason… It would be treason. Not only because I wouldn't fulfill the contract, but more likely because I was placing my family over a stranger. I was no common assassin, I couldn't just leave whenever I wanted. I had a responsibility to the Brotherhood, and if I suddenly neglected that responsibility, they'd be destroyed. My Brotherhood needed me… But they wouldn't if I betrayed them.

Lying about her death wasn't going to help me, at all. That much was certain. Admitting that I had failed the contract would ultimately make their trust in me subside, and it could possibly take another five more years for that trust to be strengthened again, but what choice did I have? It was to either tell the truth, and suffer the repercussions, or kill her and suffer another twenty-seven years of dreaming about those beautiful eyes cloud over. It was obvious which one I'd much rather, and if it meant their faith in me shattered, then so what? I'd gladly choose that!

I wrung me hands together, trying to think of a way that would allow them to trust that I had really failed, but also allow her some time to escape. I was a great assassin, and my siblings knew this. Which was all well and good, usually, but they thought that I could literally not fail. Because I never had, not once in a contract had I messed something up or done something wrong. Every single contract, before this one, had gone so smoothly. The fact that I had been the assassin to kill the Emperor after only being with them for twelve months meant that they trusted me with important contracts… And this one hadn't been.

So how could I make them believe that I had been trumped by her?

I paced in impatience, my feet hitting the smooth stone floor, hard. My mind didn't comprehend the echoing that my heavy footsteps made, the noises reverberating against the cavern's walls. All the while thinking of ways that could possibly work to fool my family, but every idea that came to mind was immediately beat away in annoyance; too many of them had holes in their fabric, and the longer I contemplated these holes, the bigger they became.

I continued to walk back and forth, the pitter patter of my footsteps almost sounding rhythmus, my mind completely withdrawn from the world around me… Until I heard a shallow gasp in my ear, than a second later a whimper. My blood turned to ice, and I froze, the echoing of my feet already dead in my ears. I turned around slowly, my breath constricting in my lungs, apprehension churning in my stomach.

Before I had expected to see a wild beast, but I hadn't wished to see one. But now I did. Because I knew, somewhere deep inside me, that that whimper could come from the only other living soul occupying this space… Anjassa. And as I turned towards her once limp body, I saw her face, and her eyes flutter open in fear.

I acted instantaneously; extinguished the Candlelight hovering above my head. A spilt second before the darkness settled, I saw her eyes. That beautiful night's sky, and the obvious fear that shone bright. But then the spell dissipated all together, the ball of light going back to its none-existence. After a few seconds passed in utter blackness, my eyes started to adjust to the lack of light. But as I studied her face, the darkness making it impossible to see her eye colour –a huge relief on my behalf- , I could tell that hers were not.

She blinked a couple times, obviously trying to make them adjust. And if they did… She'd see me. I may have been covered from head to toe in my armour, and granted the black and red had always camouflaged me in shadows, making me almost become one with them, but I couldn't take that chance. If she were to live, then she couldn't know who I was.

As Anjassa continued to strain her eyesight, I quietly, but quickly, reached behind me and pulled open my potion satchel. It didn't take more than a complete second before I felt the coolness of the small poison vial soak into my gloved hand. I knew exactly which one it was, and as fast as I could move, I grabbed ahold of Anjassa's face, trying to force her mouth open. Exactly the same way I had last time, except this time she was not asleep, and so wasn't as susceptible to my firm grip.

She tried to pull away, wriggling under my hand, and instead of trying harder, I grasped the back of her neck, immobilizing it. And to my utter happiness, it worked. As soon as my hand clamped down, she realised that struggling was only going to bring about her death, which if I were to put any more pressure on her neck, it certainly would. I worked to open her mouth, but she tried to turn her head away in defiance, so I applied just a little more pressure to her neck, not enough to break it, but enough to make a loud crack emanate from it. She paused in her attempts at escaping my hold, and I could tell that her will was about to break, and as if on cue, she went limp, allowing me just enough time to pour the vial's contents down her throat.

I continued to hold her neck, my grip no less firm than before, while she swallowed the curious potion. The small woman sputtered a bit, a few drops of poison swelling out of her mouth, and dripping onto her chin. It only took a few seconds before the contents had been downed, and I let go of her cautiously.

As I let go of her, she struck out with her arm, and it surely would've hit me if it weren't for the poison taking effect. Her arm froze before it could connect with my own, and I saw her eyes close. I could tell that she was fighting to keep them open. Her breathing started to constrict and it became hushed and hollow, like she was having a panic attack. Then suddenly her limbs started to work again and she raised her shaking hands to her face, covering it from my view.

I watched her with apprehension, not knowing how her immune system would take the poison. I didn't need to look down at the vial to know that it was a deep red colour, the colour of dark, sticky blood. It was the perfect poison for this moment; if it was created correctly, and I knew that Babette's skills wouldn't let me down, then all of her senses should disappear.

Her sight, which is exactly what I needed. Her smell and her hearing. She wouldn't be able to escape from the cave, her muscles would be slow, and sluggish. Making her movements easy to read, just in case she really did try to run away. But I highly doubted that, it would be too much of a terrible bother. And perhaps even painful. She probably wouldn't even been able to talk, either.

She sat there for a full minute, groaning and moaning. Little, tiny whimpers slipping out of her mouth occasionally. And then instead of a sound of defeated anger, a word tumbled out of her mouth: "Why?"

I looked at her face then, still covered by her hands, half thinking that the single word had just been my imagination, but I was proven wrong when she uttered a full sentence: "Where am I? And why have you taken me?" The questions came out muffled, but I could still detect the hint of anger mixed in with… Was that curiosity?

She waited for a minute, her hands visibly (even through the darkness) shaking, but when no sound but her own breathing came, she seemed to give up. At first I thought that she'd decided that she was alone, but when she removed her hands with cautious care, and her eyelids fluttered open, I could tell that she was searching for something. That something being her kidnapper: me.

"Where are you, you bas–" Her voice broke off suddenly, a gasp emanating from her chest, interrupting what was an obvious profanity. For a full minute I waited for the gasps to subside –whenever one seemed to end, another would follow right after it- until finally her breathing became calm, and her chest stopped heaving at an alarming rate. She sighed heavily, I could practically feel the anger emanating out of her body, rolling off her in waves.

Anjassa opened her eyes yet another time, but as I stared into hers, from a distance of a meter away, I knew that she couldn't see. Not just because I knew of the poison's effects, but because her eyes seemed to have paled some. Not exactly like she was touched by death's hand, but like she was blinded. A brief worry settled over me that I had taken her sight, what would she do for the rest of her life? But then I pushed that worry away; Babette would've told me if it created blindness. It was obviously just temporary. And because they were paled some, I didn't feel that same grief, but that didn't stop me from quickly looking away from her eyes.

"What have you done to me?" she asked, her voice cracked and broken. She searched some more with her eyes, but paused in hesitation, as if a little light had come on inside her brain. I knew automatically that she'd figured out what I'd poured down her throat. Even before she uttered the words, "You poisoned me, didn't you?"

Again I didn't reply, except this time she didn't pause before speaking, "Why have you done this? What did I ever do to you?" There was no curiosity in her voice anymore, but anger. Pure, hateful anger. "Look, I'm sorry for whatever I did to you, okay. But to resort to this…" she broke off quietly, and took a large gulp of air before continuing, "it's just madness. I haven't been in Skyrim long, only a couple of days. So if I've done something wrong, then I'm sorry. I can make it up to you, I swear." Her voice became desperate, pleading with me.

I was surprised that I didn't feel guilty for making her grovel, but I honestly didn't. There was no grief, no guilt, not even any sympathy. It seemed that without those eyes boring into me, as if looking down into my soul, I could actually feel what I wanted… But that didn't mean that I wanted her dead, though. She didn't deserve to die, and now I had to make sure that she wouldn't.


End file.
